tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31836577361286491052024-02-20T10:55:08.744-08:00Selfish CityAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-55527597455115107352018-11-21T02:52:00.000-08:002018-11-21T02:52:53.611-08:00<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The old Brunswick Square plane tree</b></span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
You must go and see<br />
the old Brunswick Square plane tree<br />
<br />
It's like three different tree-souls<br />
have got together for a dance<br />
<br />
You must go and see<br />
the old Brunswick Square plane tree<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
lithe joyful serpent-like branches</div>
<div>
swooping down low</div>
<div>
then up away to the top of the sky</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You must go and see<br />
the old Brunswick Square plane tree</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Gnarled, majestic, breathing in and out</div>
<div>
sheltering us under a mellow mystical</div>
<div>
canopy of joyful green</div>
<div>
and orange and brown and bare</div>
<div>
<br />
Take it from me</div>
<div>
you must go and see<br />
the old Brunswick Square plane tree</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Its gigantic elephant-foot of a trunk</div>
<div>
gracefully bouncing off the seasons with dappled</div>
<div>
time in the rustling wind nonchalance</div>
<div>
leaves nothing to the imagination</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's nothing plain about </div>
<div>
the old Brunswick Square plane tree</div>
<div>
You must go and see<br />
the old Brunswick Square plane tree</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-27089113553628165612015-09-02T10:26:00.002-07:002015-09-05T11:52:17.821-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">DOWN THE CO-OP</span></b><br />
<br />
New assistant,<br />
seems OK,<br />
smiles.<br />
<br />
Then at the end<br />
of the transaction<br />
says<br />
"Can I interest you in our<br />
offer on cherries, one pound<br />
a punnet?"<br />
She points at a pathetically<br />
small punnet<br />
containing five or six limp<br />
cherries.<br />
<br />
"No, you can't"<br />
I reply.<br />
"And in fact I don't really<br />
like you asking.<br />
If I wanted cherries<br />
I'd get them off<br />
my own volition."<br />
<br />
"Oooh, I'm sorry"<br />
she says,<br />
"I was only trying to<br />
get a conversation going,<br />
y'know a bit of interaction."<br />
<br />
"That's is a noble intention,"<br />
I riposted,<br />
"However, I feel it being<br />
accompanied by a commercial<br />
proposition<br />
somewhat diminishes<br />
its sincerity."<br />
<br />
At this point she seems to get really<br />
wound up and tells me<br />
she doesn't like my tone.<br />
<br />
This is an instant,<br />
a moment<br />
in which I have to confess<br />
on some occasions<br />
in my elongated life<br />
the situation has escalated:<br />
become unpleasant and<br />
disagreeable.<br />
The dispute has often got<br />
personal.<br />
Things have been said<br />
on both sides that<br />
perhaps in the pure light of day<br />
would have gone unsaid<br />
<br />
However,<br />
the passing of years<br />
perhaps, have taught me something.<br />
"I'm sorry you don't like my tone,"<br />
I responded.<br />
"I was merely pointing out<br />
a fundamental flaw in your<br />
argument. Also I come here all the time<br />
and this is the first time someone's tried<br />
to flog me something in this way."<br />
<br />
She now gets the wrong end of the stick<br />
but<br />
a debate has been established.<br />
we progress upon paths of reasonable<br />
discourse, well fairly reasonable,<br />
there's an element of lingering danger,<br />
the possibility of fireworks.<br />
<br />
But in the end,<br />
it all ends happily.<br />
We even end up establishing the fact<br />
that she thought I said<br />
the shop assistants in the co-op<br />
pester me continually,<br />
when I said the exact opposite.<br />
<br />
They're OK, they're cool,<br />
they leave me alone<br />
or maintain a low-key<br />
conversation.<br />
Which is probably, probably<br />
what she'll do<br />
next time<br />
she serves me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-43880925183835827092015-08-19T11:19:00.000-07:002015-09-05T11:56:14.771-07:00<b>INSIDE SOMEBODY ELSE'S SOUL</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I have raved<br />
down subconscious alleyways<br />
covered in mud graphene and silicone<br />
<br />
pecked by butterflies<br />
with the faces of rats<br />
and surrounded by passions<br />
I barely understood<br />
<br />
I have raved<br />
Oh yes I have raved<br />
<br />
I have exploded<br />
at the bottom of thoughtless<br />
oceans<br />
embraced by hysterical seahorses<br />
caught between the mad laughter<br />
of blissed-out porpoises<br />
and staggeringly<br />
intransigent sharks<br />
<br />
I have exploded<br />
Oh yes I have exploded<br />
<br />
Inside some messed-up future<br />
where nobody has a soul<br />
I sometimes crawl and dither.<br />
I'm only trying to convert myself into<br />
a <i>dijinn </i>and save the world<br />
where's the harm in that?<br />
<br />
I have upset the cart<br />
I have tossed rotten apples into<br />
salads<br />
and<br />
never had the slightest doubt<br />
that all the bickering and<br />
background interference<br />
is the only true way<br />
to alternate<br />
between <br />
elevated hopes<br />
and<br />
deflated<br />
consequences<br />
<br />
I have somersaulted<br />
through hoops of reason<br />
and trod tripwires<br />
of exuberance<br />
<br />
I have raced<br />
through columns of<br />
combustible gas<br />
and zigzagged<br />
through calamities<br />
<br />
And I didn't stop there<br />
<br />
Yes, yes<br />
I have somersaulted<br />
raced<br />
and zigzagged<br />
and I didn't stop there<br />
<br />
That beauty you were talking of<br />
the one I found in the courtyard<br />
I let her loose<br />
<br />
Now she calls everything impermanent<br />
<br />
Form of a woman<br />
snake donkey, lion goat<br />
<i>dijinns</i><br />
fire fire fire<br />
ruins jungles marshes<br />
<br />
Inside you<br />
everything's on fireAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-22944939705777223922015-08-19T09:46:00.001-07:002015-08-19T09:55:49.309-07:00<b>I WILL RIP YOUR HEART OUT</b><br />
<br />
Y'know somewhere out on Highway 61,<br />
or Highway 57<br />
or whichever fucking highway<br />
it is that ends up<br />
in Chicago<br />
<br />
Out there<br />
with the sun spitting down<br />
with ghastly giant Irish type crows<br />
fluttering about,<br />
with great fields of cornflake corn<br />
waving in the breeze<br />
<br />
With Bette Davis by my side<br />
a couple of 30s hoodlums hanging around<br />
a bit further off,<br />
and Billie Holiday waiting for me<br />
in a car with the motor running<br />
<br />
yeah, right<br />
with my Hitchcock gaze<br />
and filthy fingers of hate<br />
with my visions of bloodthirsty cherubim<br />
and Mohammed looking over my shoulder<br />
<br />
God be praised,<br />
with silent grace<br />
and noisy enthusiasm<br />
with my eyes half-filled with tears<br />
half-filled with something I can't<br />
quite put my finger on<br />
<br />
I will<br />
I will<br />
I will rip your heart outAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-44014400884600832122015-08-15T02:37:00.004-07:002015-08-15T02:37:28.263-07:00<span style="font-size: large;"><b>ON HAVING MY HAIKU REJECTED BY THE JOURNAL 'MODERN HAIKU'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
I sit rejected<br />
a sad unwanted kitten<br />
waiting to be drowned<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<div id="yiv3652837563yui_3_16_0_1_1439630995448_5340" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 23.9999980926514px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-54314441950052270522015-07-19T03:12:00.002-07:002015-07-19T04:30:57.183-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">TRANSLATION OF 'SON DE NEGROS EN CUBA'</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">BY FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">SON OF BLACK CUBA</span></b><br />
<br />
When the full moon arrives<br />
I'm off to Santiago de Cuba<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
in a carriage of black water<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
The palm-tree roofs will sing<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
When the palm tree wants to be a stork<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
And when the banana-tree wants to be a jellyfish<br />
I'm off to Santiago</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With the blonde head of Fonseca<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
And with Romeo and Juliet's rose<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
Oh, Cuba, rhythm of dried seeds!<br />
Paper sea and silver coins<br />
I'm off to Santiago</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh, waist on fire and drop of wood!<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
Harp of living tree-trunks, alligator, tobacco flower!<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
I always said I'd go to Santiago<br />
in a carriage of black water</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm off to Santiago<br />
Breeze and alcohol in the wheels<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
My coral in the deepest shadows<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
The drowned sea in the sand<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
White heat, dead fruit,<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
Oh, the bovine coolness of sugar cane!<br />
Oh, Cuba! The sigh of the curve and the mud!<br />
I'm off to Santiago<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-89952393280957158762015-07-18T11:36:00.001-07:002015-07-19T04:32:27.776-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">HOW THEY WHINE</span></b><br />
<br />
You know that shit<br />
that shit that moronic artists<br />
spout<br />
<br />
about<br />
like how their 'art'<br />
isn't about<br />
providing answers<br />
but asking questions<br />
<br />
Well,<br />
I vomit<br />
into their<br />
lonely little souls<br />
<br />
I defecate inside their<br />
rusty ego-stewed<br />
minds<br />
<br />
For in the<br />
magic brew of<br />
my words<br />
you<br />
will<br />
I promise <br />
I GUARANTEE!<br />
find a thousand solutions<br />
<br />
You will find<br />
the answers<br />
to all the mysteries<br />
to all the paradoxes<br />
to all the indefinable wonderings<br />
<br />
You will<br />
rise to the surface of<br />
the intoxicating<br />
stirring of my creations<br />
and find yourself<br />
speechless<br />
from revelation<br />
and<br />
resolution<br />
<br />
otherwise<br />
I'd be wasting my time<br />
and you'd be left dangling<br />
in a sort of vapid<br />
bourgeois nothingness<br />
and we wouldn't want thatAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-59823907287300596632015-07-17T12:50:00.001-07:002015-07-17T12:50:40.065-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">SOMEWHERE UNDER THE RAINBOW</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Balthasar<br />
stooped<br />
spat out the<br />
unsteady gaze<br />
of everybody<br />
who had smelt<br />
his hate<br />
<br />
I was cleaning the dung<br />
from the stables<br />
at the time<br />
I knew nothing<br />
of silly people<br />
who could not create<br />
a universe<br />
in the blink<br />
and flutter<br />
of an overwhelming<br />
undernourished<br />
lonely<br />
split-second<br />
<br />
Gaspar<br />
I beat him to<br />
a fucking pulp.<br />
But my cruelty was kindness!<br />
He deserved everything I <br />
served up<br />
I was just struggling to find my<br />
true self<br />
and you know what?<br />
I never did find it<br />
<br />
Yeh, the wanker<br />
just came into the stables<br />
at the wrong time<br />
and with the wrong attitude<br />
even the flies<br />
were outraged by his<br />
stranded behaviour<br />
<br />
and<br />
yes, it was jealousy<br />
that drove me.<br />
and hypocrisy<br />
that picked me up<br />
it was isolation<br />
that spurred my bones<br />
and every blow I delivered<br />
lived with me<br />
forever<br />
<br />
Melchior<br />
sat by his camel and mocked<br />
my antics<br />
"You're a<br />
miserable tosser"<br />
he said<br />
with a smirk<br />
<br />
The lazy lizards<br />
crawling out his ears<br />
turned their<br />
indolent eyes<br />
in my direction<br />
<br />
I didn't like the look<br />
they gave me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-18757363470684904682015-07-17T11:52:00.002-07:002015-07-18T11:39:26.254-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">NOW I REMEMBER WHO I AM</span></b><br />
<br />
all golden bleat it was<br />
like a heartbeat in secret<br />
sending all those visions that<br />
economics presenters<br />
swat away in their<br />
sweaty brain-washed<br />
summaries<br />
<br />
Yes, I was wallowing<br />
in words again,<br />
my swords were numerous.<br />
Ahhh, the blade as it cuts,<br />
the thrust,<br />
the dizzy adventure<br />
of lunging<br />
by degrees<br />
<br />
and then I cough up everything<br />
the blaze<br />
the flames<br />
all the colours<br />
all the thoughts<br />
I'm sick of reading the thoughts<br />
they're like awkward adventures<br />
you'd rather forget<br />
<br />
In spite of everything<br />
the moon went out<br />
the lamb<br />
roared<br />
the apocalypse was dissappointing<br />
the dawn was crass<br />
but the fire, the fire<br />
could explode my mind!<br />
<br />
the house that sat on top of the hill<br />
was swaying as I began to make love<br />
to the memory of<br />
everything that had never really happened<br />
and imagine my dismay<br />
when your poison began to work<br />
and all the flowers were<br />
transformed into<br />
a sort of trite torment<br />
<br />
Today I caught the X9<br />
and it was like hell<br />
and it was like heaven<br />
we laughed as we stared<br />
down on everything<br />
<br />
all golden bleat it was<br />
like purified oxygen mixed<br />
with some difficulty<br />
into the hum of a bus<br />
with a mysterious name<br />
<br />
and we fly<br />
we fly along<br />
past me,<br />
past you<br />
because we're no longer here,<br />
no, we don't for a minute<br />
think anything will stay still<br />
we just enjoy the company<br />
of the wading birds<br />
and the loving ghosts<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-24938793346818898692015-07-16T04:41:00.001-07:002015-07-16T11:33:52.783-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">CORRECTION</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
I wrote a poem in<br />
my book of poems,<br />
about fuck-arsed poets<br />
who stick semi-colons<br />
in the middle of their<br />
tedious lines of twaddle<br />
<br />
however<br />
I was wrong<br />
that's not what they do<br />
<br />
I check out all<br />
these modern shit poets<br />
by reading idle snippets<br />
of their bilge,<br />
whilst browsing<br />
in bookshops,<br />
you remember them?<br />
<br />
and<br />
I have now observed<br />
it ain't semi-colons<br />
they bang around,<br />
it's full stops. Like this<br />
<br />
So,<br />
I stand corrected<br />
you stand corrected<br />
we all stand corrected<br />
<br />
I do wish<br />
they'd stop doing it<br />
though<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-35769626400894321702015-07-14T11:28:00.002-07:002015-07-15T06:34:37.299-07:00<b>DID SOMEONE REALLY WRITE THIS?</b><br />
<br />
Trawling through<br />
the swampy wastelands<br />
of modern poetry<br />
in some vain attempt to get<br />
my 'stuff' about<br />
I came across this:<br />
<br />
"We prefer poems with these qualities:<br />
image, subtlety and point of view;<br />
a surface of worldly exactitude,<br />
as well as a depth of semantic ambiguity;<br />
and a voice that negotiates<br />
with its body of predecessors."<br />
<br />
Well, I'm fucking up for that!<br />
<br />
Oh, body of Predecessors!<br />
Sorry, I just kicked you in the nuts,<br />
I didn't know who you were.<br />
If I'd have known,<br />
I would have, like,<br />
semantically,<br />
and ambiguously,<br />
and showing a fucking fistful<br />
of worldly exactitude,<br />
not to mention using<br />
real subtle imagery,<br />
torn your heart out from your body<br />
and thrown it to the dogs<br />
<br />
How's that<br />
for a point of view?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-34806340558582268162015-07-05T12:22:00.001-07:002015-07-05T12:22:31.653-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">POEM FOR SOMEONE ASKING TO BE TAKEN OFF MY MAILING LIST</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Your soul<br />
stirring in the breeze<br />
<br />
Your soul<br />
swaying like a bucket of bile<br />
on a cruel wind<br />
<br />
Your soul<br />
lilting,<br />
trying to escape<br />
the awkwardness<br />
and the uncomfortable<br />
conversations;<br />
more english than you can<br />
ever imagine<br />
<br />
Your soul<br />
disintegrating in<br />
front of our eyes<br />
<br />
and you know what<br />
I'm doing<br />
..while all this is<br />
going on?<br />
Well, I'm waving...<br />
y'know...<br />
fond farewell,<br />
all friendly like,<br />
a dainty 'will not darken your<br />
doorstep again'<br />
look on my face<br />
<br />
Here I am,<br />
No, here I am.<br />
Can't you see me?<br />
Can't you discern me?<br />
Come on!<br />
I'm everywhere<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div id="yiv7689485390yui_3_16_0_1_1436120541653_13606" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 24px;">
<br /></div>
<div id="yiv7689485390yui_3_16_0_1_1436120541653_13606" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 24px;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-56913762818605611062015-07-03T03:35:00.001-07:002015-07-03T08:19:53.390-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">YOU HAVE BEEN SIGNED OUT DUE TO INACTIVITY</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Signed out<br />
due to inactivity,<br />
what a way to go<br />
<br />
Hung out to dry,<br />
slung down the basement,<br />
lobbed up the attic,<br />
kicked into the alleyway,<br />
ditched in the canal,<br />
downloaded into oblivion<br />
<br />
Left to rot,<br />
yes,<br />
ROT!<br />
and all because<br />
I was inactive.<br />
And all because<br />
I did not,<br />
I did not do anything<br />
<br />
Cruel computer<br />
screen,<br />
carrier of hurtful messages,<br />
harbinger<br />
of cold, icy cold,<br />
large, blue fonted<br />
words of dismissal.<br />
<br />
Staring upon your<br />
present passive perfect<br />
notification,<br />
I do not feel stronger,<br />
I do not feel like a rainbow,<br />
I do not feel like a bud about to burst<br />
<br />
Signed out<br />
due to inactivity,<br />
and there ain't nothing I can do about it,<br />
except<br />
sign back in again!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-81354557317742369312015-07-02T04:08:00.002-07:002015-07-02T04:09:27.626-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">ARSEHOLE</span></b><br />
<br />
Malingerer,<br />
voider.<br />
Whipper-snapping<br />
proximity of<br />
a human being<br />
<br />
Jerkhead,<br />
pissed off,<br />
pointless, mouth-farting<br />
lump of<br />
uselessness<br />
<br />
Everywhere person,<br />
crap-faced,<br />
non-thinking,<br />
hole of desolation<br />
<br />
Slithering,<br />
withering<br />
negation<br />
of any semblance<br />
of joy and<br />
sincerity<br />
<br />
Off you go,<br />
go on, get out there,<br />
into the world!<br />
You've got lots of people's<br />
lives to fuck up.<br />
Why waste time<br />
reading poetry?<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-63342953375511995482015-07-02T04:02:00.001-07:002015-07-02T04:02:26.213-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">FRENZIED</span></b><br />
<br />
The previous 98<br />
poems on this here blog<br />
have been gathered into<br />
an e-book thingy<br />
called<br />
'Selfish City will not fall'<br />
available from<br />
Kindle, Smashwords<br />
and hopefully all the others<br />
when I overcome<br />
some teasing technical challenges<br />
<br />
There's a vid<br />
of me reading two poems<br />
on youtube,<br />
called, errr, 'Two poems'.<br />
I'm out with my novel<br />
A.N.D./O-R,<br />
in a little while<br />
and there's music stuff around<br />
<br />
I hope you too,<br />
dear fan,<br />
you are also<br />
living a useful life.<br />
We all must try,<br />
mustn't we?<br />
<br />
The shit will inevitably<br />
hit the fan.<br />
Humiliation and<br />
disappointment<br />
will crunch our brittle bones.<br />
Indifference and<br />
failure<br />
will lock us in their<br />
unforgiving embrace<br />
<br />
but if we don't do<br />
anything,<br />
who will?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-35602634808387802252015-06-14T06:30:00.001-07:002015-06-16T04:20:24.035-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'M OUT OF HERE</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Last day in the Civil Service,<br />
eight cruddy years<br />
<br />
The chief statistician<br />
a man of devout Christian<br />
beliefs calls me into his office<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
He is as bland as the<br />
monochrome, open-plan surroundings,<br />
as soulless as the glass lifts<br />
<br />
He has been instructed to<br />
give me a final warning<br />
for excessive sick leave<br />
<br />
Despite my protestations<br />
this slave of protocol insistingly<br />
delivers the absurd reprimand<br />
<br />
I was out of there in two hours<br />
for forever! Gone!<br />
But right now I was sitting petulantly<br />
listening to some shrivel-arsed<br />
tit telling me I could have no more days off sick<br />
even though that was clearly an<br />
impossibility<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
I maintained my surly<br />
demeanour<br />
throughout his pathetic performance.<br />
When it had ended,<br />
I got up, went down the cafe,<br />
had a coffee and a bun,<br />
went for a smoke<br />
then returned to my desk<br />
and half-pretended to work<br />
<br />
Only another one hour<br />
and twenty five<br />
minutes to go!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-62436005391192551432015-06-14T06:06:00.004-07:002015-06-14T06:11:51.792-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">HE</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">AVENSLIGHT 3</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Sleep cannot go on forever,<br />
the unconscious divinity<br />
that lies at the foot of Albion<br />
stirs in his den.<br />
His long, somnolent<br />
night of wild imaginings<br />
is drawing to a close.<br />
His eyelids flutter<br />
<br />
Around the bird cages<br />
in Victoria Park,<br />
the sickly pungent smell<br />
of burnt meat.<br />
The leader of Portsmouth City Council,<br />
tory Donna Jones<br />
is being roasted.<br />
She is stretched out on a spit,<br />
rotating clockwise<br />
as the flames of an<br />
indecent fire<br />
lick her ample bulk.<br />
Hideous, cross-eyed goblins<br />
and twisted creatures<br />
from the darkest corners<br />
of the netherworld,<br />
emit shrill squawking shrieks<br />
of cruel delight;<br />
the precious lawn sizzles,<br />
a choir of winos<br />
sing Bach's cantata Number 113<br />
<br />
Baffin pond's<br />
murky waters<br />
are alive with<br />
pen-pushers, supermarket<br />
delivery personnel<br />
and the entire workforce<br />
of First (profit before people)<br />
bus company.<br />
All wallow in splashy despair.<br />
Alas, their fatty flesh<br />
is being ripped apart by<br />
diet obsessed piranhas<br />
who have no truck<br />
with modern ideas<br />
of free-market competition<br />
<br />
The spirit of Portsea Island trembles.<br />
It mutters in its sleep,<br />
its indecipherable words<br />
haunting the vodka<br />
and sports bars that<br />
huddle in cowed submission<br />
down Guildhall walk.<br />
Slumber no more!<br />
Tell the denizens of<br />
the Continental Ferry Port<br />
to gather up their<br />
transitory possessions.<br />
The ground is moving!<br />
<br />
Inside the Holiday Inn<br />
just down from The Navy Club,<br />
seven-eyed sea monsters<br />
who have returned from<br />
a watery grave,<br />
scrawl<br />
abusive grafitti<br />
on the tasteful walls<br />
of executive bedrooms.<br />
The bowling green<br />
has been turned into<br />
an open-air brothel.<br />
The fenced-off piece of ground<br />
near the bombed out church<br />
is a site for sacrifice<br />
and vengeance.<br />
Napoleonic prisoners<br />
circle the moribund<br />
statue of Nelson.<br />
When their vicious ceremony is over<br />
they dig one last hole<br />
in Grand Parade<br />
and throw into it<br />
a gaggle of whimpering<br />
clergymen and women<br />
<br />
St James' hospital site<br />
guided by wild visions<br />
of a million hopeless<br />
tomorrows<br />
allows a swarm of<br />
armour-plated locusts<br />
to crush its<br />
miserable memories<br />
into dust.<br />
When they have gorged their fill,<br />
the locusts stroll down to<br />
the prison,<br />
where they insist on<br />
giving every inmate<br />
a copy of the complete works<br />
of Conan Doyle.<br />
A grotesque pack<br />
of starving hyenas and<br />
bloodthirsty jackals<br />
romp into the Royal Marines<br />
Museum.<br />
They eat all the exhibits<br />
then crank up the volume.<br />
The weight of history<br />
is not upon them<br />
<br />
Portsmouth wakes!<br />
The weary giant<br />
scrambles to his feet.<br />
In a daze he stares to Portsdown Hill,<br />
half-asleep he<br />
glazily registers<br />
the outline of Spinnaker Tower.<br />
Dormant no more,<br />
his true self rouses!<br />
All doubt and ignorance swept out beyond<br />
Palmeston's follies.<br />
Tired of everything but life<br />
his mighty hands stretch out<br />
to the Isle of Wight,<br />
they seize the isle,<br />
hoist it up and hurl it<br />
into the furthermost vortex.<br />
Now he stamps on Gosport,<br />
kicks Hayling Island about<br />
like a punctured football.<br />
Portchester feels a thousand<br />
heavy hammering blows.<br />
Drayton is torn to shreds<br />
in the storm of his arousal.<br />
<br />
Awake!<br />
Awake!<br />
The Island City is free!<br />
Its chains lie at the bottom<br />
of Langstone Harbour.<br />
Set forth<br />
Set forth!<br />
Joy and the eternal now<br />
can no longer be<br />
restrained.<br />
The age of cowardly<br />
conformism<br />
is gone!<br />
London will crumple<br />
at the sight of such<br />
unrestrained energy!<br />
The North of England<br />
will writhe and moan<br />
<br />
Portsmouth has woken!<br />
From the dead of night,<br />
from subconscious subjugation.<br />
Portsmouth has woken!<br />
From villainous abominations<br />
and the tyranny of reason.<br />
<br />
Portsmouth has woken!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-75557987477023953202015-06-14T03:35:00.002-07:002015-06-14T03:35:28.463-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">ESSENCE 10</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
if there's always a wall of something or other<br />
staring you in the face,<br />
why carry a brick in your pocket?<br />
<br />
if there's always a roundabout in your mind,<br />
why carry a set of traffic-lights<br />
in your haversack?<br />
<br />
if there's always a church<br />
in your chest,<br />
why not break into the sacristi?<br />
<br />
if there's always a fly in your ointment,<br />
why not bludgeon it to death<br />
with a ballpoint pen?<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-60545983116548601682015-06-14T03:28:00.000-07:002015-06-14T06:55:02.346-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">WHERE AMERICA WAS</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Here, where America was,<br />
we do a little dance<br />
a simple hornpipe<br />
over the scattered remains<br />
of a once proud nation<br />
<br />
Yes, here<br />
where bloated pirates<br />
ate raw fish<br />
and surrendered<br />
their innocence<br />
to hypnotised petrol attendants<br />
we feel we are better than no-one<br />
<br />
Yep, out here<br />
where the mockery blows wild<br />
the mustangs quiver<br />
and the windswept<br />
raccoons shiver,<br />
we say a prayer<br />
around an imaginary<br />
camp fire<br />
and salute a flock<br />
of unfrozen shaman coming<br />
in from the West<br />
<br />
Here, floating in the space<br />
where America once was,<br />
we honey our epithets<br />
with the sweet languor,<br />
the sugary regrets<br />
of senseless<br />
senate hearings<br />
and impromptu bacchanals<br />
<br />
Yer darn right.<br />
On this the spot<br />
where the<br />
United States<br />
chewed its calamitous cud,<br />
we break open bottles<br />
of sparkly cider<br />
and shake our<br />
cocktails<br />
in phoney anger<br />
<br />
We haven't<br />
bothered to welcome<br />
the dawn,<br />
and we haven't done<br />
any groundwork.<br />
We are quite content to<br />
rely on our natural wit<br />
and innate entrepreneurial skills<br />
as we empty the contents<br />
of the basket<br />
of history<br />
onto the scraggy rug<br />
which covers the site<br />
where America was<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-81835072330884260652015-06-13T03:50:00.000-07:002015-06-13T06:27:00.294-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">PALAFRUGELL, HOLIDAY FROM HELL</span></b><br />
<br />
My back had been paining me,<br />
it was July, there was no work,<br />
so Mafi suggested we take a restful break<br />
<br />
I think she was motivated<br />
by the dreamy, hippy holidays<br />
she had spent grooving out<br />
in Ibizan caves and Formenteran taverns<br />
<br />
She suggested we hasten to Palafrugell<br />
a dinky Costa Bravan seaside resort.<br />
There, bathing in<br />
the sweet, lush waters<br />
of the Mediterranean<br />
I would recuperate<br />
and be reborn.<br />
I assented, anything to get rid of this pain<br />
<br />
I imagine we arrived<br />
full of wide-eyed hope,<br />
excited and eagerly looking<br />
forward to<br />
a joyous week by the seaside,<br />
but maybe not even that's true,<br />
maybe we arrived bad-tempered<br />
and weary from an unnecessarily long<br />
coach journey, maybe my<br />
excruciating back had already hurled<br />
me into a dark, irritable place<br />
<br />
There must have been a moment<br />
when we weren't arguing<br />
but if there was I don't remember it.<br />
We argued in the morning<br />
as the mighty bronzed tourist horde<br />
joined us on the beach<br />
where curled up in our<br />
tatty sleeping bags<br />
we had been attempting<br />
to doze.<br />
We argued at lunchtime<br />
as we swallowed mouthfuls<br />
of jarred lentils and stale bread.<br />
We argued in the evening<br />
as we<br />
wandered wearily, aimlessly,<br />
irascibly round<br />
the uninspiring<br />
streets and squares<br />
of this dispiriting town.<br />
We argued as we stared up at the stars<br />
and tried to get some elusive shut-eye,<br />
We argued in our sleep<br />
<br />
Everywhere we looked<br />
people were enjoying themselves:<br />
soaking in the gorgeous<br />
sun; feasting on lush paellas<br />
and mouth-watering mariscadas;<br />
splashing and joking about<br />
they knocked back<br />
envigorating sangrias<br />
and refreshingly ice cold beers.<br />
I have never and never since<br />
seen so many<br />
happy folk gathered together<br />
in one place, not surprisingly<br />
the ongoing carnival<br />
erupting around our weary selves<br />
only excacerbated<br />
our 200 peseta a day<br />
misery<br />
<br />
The last night<br />
as we lay on the beach<br />
attempting to reach<br />
the world of dreams,<br />
a gang of menacing, drunken,<br />
motor-bike louts<br />
cavorted onto the beach.<br />
Shitting ourselves<br />
we scurried into the bushes;<br />
we spent a couple<br />
of hours crouched in<br />
prickly, sandy discomfort<br />
while this merry band<br />
of alcohol fuelled crazies<br />
howled at the moon;<br />
it was a fitting end<br />
<br />
<br />
On the up side,<br />
I swam about 15 times a day,<br />
for the first time in a long, long time<br />
my back didn't hurt,<br />
and every holiday we had after<br />
was fun,<br />
except for the car crash one<br />
in Extramadura,<br />
and even then<br />
in that one<br />
we got some compensation<br />
from the<br />
car insurance company<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-59534638177854107172015-06-13T02:21:00.000-07:002015-06-20T08:07:27.829-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">EXOTIC MATTER IN THE UNIVERSE</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Chuckling like a horsefly<br />
up to its neck in manure<br />
the anthropic principle<br />
strokes its wispy beard<br />
and directs its dark energy eyes<br />
towards an enticing nest of multi-verses<br />
<br />
Chortling, an incessant moth<br />
buzzes round critical density candles<br />
there is nothing it likes more<br />
than waddling,<br />
exoplanets clutched to its<br />
hairless chest, into<br />
the 120 orders of magnitude problem<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-9944587205050607862015-06-12T05:28:00.000-07:002015-06-12T10:16:42.903-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">'TIS DRAGON TIME</span></b><br />
<br />
'Tis dragon time, 'tis dragon time,<br />
can you hear their ghostly rustle?<br />
'Tis dragon time, 'tis dragon time,<br />
can you sense the psychic muscle?<br />
<br />
Out by the Co-op,<br />
right outside the<br />
automatic doors,<br />
a whole bunch of golden rayed<br />
creatures glistening.<br />
Exuding some indefinable,<br />
alluring, mystical<br />
pantomime of mayhem.<br />
I try to ignore them,<br />
bustle into the<br />
store and head straight for<br />
the refrigerated section.<br />
Only chicken in a bag!<br />
I want a chicken,<br />
but I don't want it in a bag.<br />
They are not doing me any favours,<br />
it's much better to bask the chicken<br />
yourself than put your trust<br />
in the dubious meddling<br />
of culinary scientists<br />
<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
can you feel it in your veins?<br />
'Tis dragon time, 'tis dragon time,<br />
is it seeping through your brains?<br />
<br />
On my way out,<br />
there's more of them,<br />
filling the road,<br />
filling the pavement.<br />
Then, I spy a whole other crowd<br />
of heavenly, multi-gemmed, winged<br />
emperors of earth and sky<br />
hovering<br />
in front of the 'Anglican Cathedral'.<br />
Blimey!<br />
How did that happen?<br />
And where's St George when you need him?<br />
I try to strike up a conversation<br />
with these unwieldy beasts,<br />
but they ignore me completely.<br />
Can you believe it!<br />
Damn, I forgot to buy milk,<br />
I will have to retrace my steps.<br />
<i>Whole milk</i> of course,<br />
any other type is a<br />
chemically manipulated aberration<br />
<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
a thing of legend just got real.<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
this really is, this definitely is, a bloody great big deal<br />
<br />
The bloke at the till<br />
calls me 'mate',<br />
I feel like pointing out<br />
I am not his 'mate'.<br />
I am a customer,<br />
plain and simple.<br />
I do not come to<br />
the Co-operative 'supermarket'<br />
in search of friendship<br />
nor do I expect to find it there.<br />
Besides 'mate' is<br />
not a term of address<br />
native to Portsmouth<br />
<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
watch out what you think,<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
or you'll vanish in a blink<br />
<br />
On my re-emergence<br />
I am struck<br />
by a bright, sparkling,<br />
scintillating,<br />
Aleppo crystal sensation.<br />
An uncanny combination<br />
of magic carpet chicanery,<br />
and supernatural bewilderment.<br />
Still, I hold my head up high<br />
as I saunter down the road up to<br />
the Number One bus stop.<br />
There, one vast, insanely magical creature<br />
is gazing at the plinthed globe which<br />
commemorates the site of the hotel<br />
where Nelson spent his last night.<br />
The dragon turns to me,<br />
blocks my path,<br />
his nostrils flare, he snorts,<br />
a puff of acrid, sulphurous smoke<br />
stings the air.<br />
"You, you'd better watch out!"<br />
he mutters gruffly<br />
"otherwise...You'll be for it!<br />
Do you get me?"<br />
I look around,<br />
I am surrounded by light<br />
and revelation<br />
by pure colour and intangible longing.<br />
I can no longer stand in the way<br />
of progress,<br />
"Yes, I get you.<br />
Don't worry, you<br />
won't have any more<br />
trouble from me,<br />
I want to be your 'mate'"<br />
The dragon shuffles aside to let me pass,<br />
but pauses a moment<br />
for one final observation<br />
"We're watching you, smartass"<br />
<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
there is nothing you can do.<br />
'Tis dragon time,'tis dragon time,<br />
the time for starting out anew!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-17023183747229681432015-06-12T02:33:00.001-07:002015-06-13T02:23:41.464-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">GOT TO GET AWAY</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
I must leap across chasm and abysses,<br />
I really must.<br />
I must wave goodbye to the grandchildren of oblivion,<br />
it's on my list<br />
<br />
I must red-eyed and wine crazy jump into a vat of bubbling compromise,<br />
here I go.<br />
I must take a hold and not jump into that vat after all, it may contain residues,<br />
here I don't go<br />
<br />
I must with the roar of the ocean in my ears, dive onto the shore,<br />
I am preparing myself.<br />
I must with the aid of the latest technology, examine my thoughts,<br />
perhaps they are unnecessary encumbrances<br />
<br />
I must, waving a stick, and daubed in blue woad, climb a mountain,<br />
any old mountain.<br />
I must whilst still not in my right senses, ford a wide river,<br />
where is the river?<br />
<br />
I must relieve the monotony by creating a personality,<br />
who shall I be?<br />
I must carve my initials on the walls of dark, ominous caves,<br />
I'll do it after I've had a nice cup of tea<br />
<br />
I must capture bliss, put it in a jar and release it on a moonless night,<br />
It's in my diary.<br />
I must hurl myself into the void and come out the other side,<br />
I must, I really must<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-65482869760639167032015-06-10T11:00:00.002-07:002015-06-14T03:42:50.122-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">THE WONDERFUL MR TIBBS</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
Like a Pickwick from the papers<br />
rotund, amiable and bright<br />
Mr Tibbs will always cheer you up<br />
he's so teasingly polite<br />
<br />
His never ending ribaldry<br />
his wit his words his grace<br />
his relentless imagination<br />
make the world a better place<br />
<br />
Tibbsy is the best you see<br />
he's a magic wand, a crack of the whip<br />
he's a monument to irony<br />
he's a dockyard, he's a ship<br />
<br />
He's sensuously, self-helplessly Dickensian<br />
and that I rather like<br />
he wears a top hat and a bow-tie<br />
and he rides around on an old bike<br />
<br />
His frock coat is smart and elegant<br />
his whiskers spruce, his eyes alert<br />
it's hard to describe in words<br />
the snazziness of his dress shirt<br />
<br />
He's surreal and really out there<br />
he's like a gentle punch in the ribs<br />
he's a wicked ball of mischievousness<br />
here comes the the one and only Mr Tibbs!<br />
<br />
He's a shaman and a seer,<br />
he's a bohemian, quite baroque!<br />
he sparkles with enlightening excitement<br />
he never glances at the clock<br />
<br />
He never finishes anything<br />
but it really doesn't matter<br />
he's a totally original gentleman<br />
though as mad as the proverbial hatter<br />
<br />
It's hard to resist his caustic charm<br />
you've got to admire his nerve,<br />
he's cheerily provocative<br />
he's loquacious and full of verve<br />
<br />
He's original in every way<br />
and he's certainly not prone to fibs<br />
here comes the one and only, the most inimitable<br />
the daring, the glaring, the wonderful Mr Tibbs!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183657736128649105.post-16027445957131845342015-06-10T09:00:00.000-07:002015-06-11T02:11:39.123-07:00<b><span style="font-size: large;">RUTH LESS</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
The blind came up,<br />
a rocky, waterfally<br />
moist,<br />
plant-ridden installation<br />
revealed itself as<br />
the metal folds<br />
rose.<br />
It made me sick,<br />
everything around me<br />
made me sick:<br />
the minimalist furnishing;<br />
the blaring non-stop eighties<br />
music;<br />
the mournful ornamentation;<br />
the crappy coffee;<br />
Ruth<br />
<br />
Private classes<br />
at the school<br />
had cost her 25 euros<br />
an hour,<br />
and I got 15.<br />
I underhandedly persuaded<br />
her to leave the school<br />
and do the classes<br />
with me at her home<br />
for 20 euros:<br />
everybody happy,<br />
except the school:<br />
and fuck them<br />
<br />
The first thing<br />
she did was barter<br />
me down to 17.50 euros,<br />
I feebly submitted.<br />
I figured I was still getting more<br />
than the going rate.<br />
<br />
Off we rocked,<br />
twelve months<br />
or so<br />
of one-to-one<br />
English between a master<br />
poet and<br />
a bourgeois piece of shit,<br />
and I'm being nice here<br />
<br />
Give her her due,<br />
she always paid up promptly,<br />
money-notes stacked up on<br />
the table,<br />
the way I like it.<br />
Once she didn't lay the cash out<br />
pre-class,<br />
I innocently pointed out<br />
the fact,<br />
she nearly bit my head off<br />
<br />
In fact the whole experience<br />
was somewhat akin to<br />
being savagely ravaged by some<br />
evil, culturally pig-ignorant,<br />
money infested ogre.<br />
An angry, unhappy and<br />
deeply bitter ogre<br />
<br />
Yes, yes,<br />
can you believe it?<br />
In the privacy of<br />
her own home<br />
she had to<br />
attempt to concentrate,<br />
despite barely getting any sleep the<br />
night before, as some bohemian twat<br />
twaddled on about<br />
the inane intricacies<br />
of the English language<br />
<br />
Early on we had breached the<br />
question of race,<br />
she had made it fairly clear<br />
that she thought Moroccans,<br />
and in a random<br />
descending order,<br />
all other non-European races<br />
were despicable, idle scum.<br />
I had offered an alternative perspective,<br />
she had dismissed<br />
my perspective saying<br />
'You don't understand Spain';<br />
well neither did she<br />
<br />
She was tired, so tired<br />
and life was so, so fucking hard;<br />
in fact, it was unbearable:<br />
she couldn't sleep;<br />
she had a horrible headache;<br />
she had to take the kids to school<br />
(a knob school just down the road);<br />
pick them up;<br />
supervise their homework;<br />
occasionally cook;<br />
occasionally work in her husband's company<br />
in some indefinable role<br />
which never became clear;<br />
well the list of unendurable tasks<br />
went on and on and on<br />
<br />
It was an astonishing<br />
display of self-centredness.<br />
The stupid (well not so stupid) cow<br />
lived a life relative to the rest of us<br />
of absolute comfort.<br />
Her awareness of this fact<br />
and her empathy with the human race<br />
were close to zero<br />
<br />
The husband sauntered in and out,<br />
at eleven o'clock in the morning<br />
fresh from a game of tennis;<br />
a poor, sweet South American<br />
(not Moroccan) girl<br />
ironed, cleaned and cooked away;<br />
the swimming pool in the garden<br />
awaited the<br />
warm rays of summer;<br />
Ruth explained to me she bought all<br />
her clothes in Milan,<br />
nowhere else could compare,<br />
and London, London as far as fashion<br />
was concerned was<br />
an absolute joke;<br />
<br />
To be honest<br />
the worst thing of all<br />
was me.<br />
I sat there listening<br />
to this trite litany of egotistic,<br />
masochistic codswollop,<br />
and did nothing,<br />
absolutely nothing<br />
but obsequiously sympathise.<br />
<br />
Throughout the lesson<br />
the radio blasted<br />
out<br />
the ungodliest, most distracting<br />
wall of musical shite<br />
imaginable<br />
and I said nothing.<br />
No, not a tweet, not a trill<br />
emerged<br />
from Selfish's puny beak<br />
<br />
Am I weak,<br />
stupid senseless?<br />
I wasn't that broke<br />
that I couldn't have ditched<br />
her and searched for<br />
some other source of income.<br />
Why, why did I put up with<br />
this inexcusably vapid entity?<br />
'Cos she was vaguely good-looking?<br />
From a sort of fatalistic fascination?<br />
Laziness?<br />
<br />
Oh god, Every second felt like<br />
a thousand, moaning,<br />
irritable, unsatisfied years.<br />
Every minute felt like a tortured,<br />
parched trek across<br />
an unremitting desert with<br />
a death hound from hell.<br />
Every hour felt like<br />
a painful, sour-faced,<br />
tedious eternity of<br />
grudges, disagreeability<br />
and cantankerousness<br />
<br />
In the end,<br />
it sort of petered out<br />
as these things do.<br />
Her dad got ill,<br />
my confident allure<br />
lost its tarnish.<br />
Yes, we parted ways<br />
none the wiser<br />
for the experience,<br />
but probably both quite<br />
relieved we would never have to see<br />
the other<br />
ever again in<br />
our lives<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15002934543437965126noreply@blogger.com0