Saturday, 29 October 2011

Die Auto-Sluice (The Feminine Article)

60 years with black bags for
eyes in bibs desperately scuttling
round pathetic excuse for a bakery
slash come-on tit-bit side-sales,
cartoon animals and stupid cocktails
sticking up to get the husband-
runny to buy the display wine:
you gotta stand the dustbin-bunny by;
ignoring the following face and eyelids,
the unstoppable auto-sluice,
the Ice-Dream Machine-Juice,
the fake Hawaiian stick-rug things
and stuck-upperrings of bunseeds-in
thick frames, that are painful backdrops-in
her struggling somnambulish visions -kick in
the frigging thing quick
and ditch the bib you dead bitch!
Run for your wife Flora before a
grave thought slithers under your life,
and the cracks open up beneath you like a knife!

Crap Reg

Because of this fucking
pen they think i'm writing
reports the whole time and
i can see the black dress dummies starting
to treat me with more respect already.
i'll write down this show was good if
you let me do a shit somewhere.
i know they couldn't know i know
i'd rather inspect a dog's shit than wade
through these rooms with
The Crap Regurgitator
round each corner.
Buttake a substantial leaf
out its commercial history into
its inescapable diseases;
its unmasked social sleazes;
its fossilized wrench;
its traceable imaginative stench!

Chronos: Saves Love Production in the Airport

Policing the only distiguished screen between coffee shop of universal furniture and behind screen authority business,though man walks through it who wears jeans and suit jacket and vaguely homosexual high street mother-teasers. he wouldn't do anything wrong even if he could. man in middle of circular toy train track doing serious electrician job on his knees- killing floor- with 2 elders starting on appreciatively and mindless of his job description. the announcements over the music bring a  tear to my oozing infected eyes.

Celebrating the 55th Anniversary first flight from our history terminal.

What is this for? Watercolours look. And as i spit into the heavily stained box of mud chunks the guards almost jump backwards and i felt them groping their guns. Only a demonstration on one of my pencil drawings was sufficient to get them off my back but only led to my anger at ruining a perfectly satisfactory work for these people's ease. They are comforted cold blooded functioners by whatever small tonal ranges come from music telling you about taking your girl on a shopping spree on the streets far from here. Nothing new in the queue. "i've got the postcode of my office Katie Twenty Two Seminal Y." Numbers he spoke into his mouthpiece were 64 and 54. Asked for replacement function. Back in office tomorrow. Is there a branch in leatherhead still he asked his mates simply. There's no one there at the moment I'm being looked at with what i construe to be suspicion by his well trimmed office boxers.

Rollerskating girls passed 2 blonds, wearing two brand t-shirts- unrecognised joblets. They can't be serious seriously- isn't in their programming. Anonymously they roll out permutations of crushes and promotions and lifts home. But i dream of the mental juices inside them both; of some truely deepreaching gossip; of one of those who-gives-a-flying-fuck jobs where they actually manage to mutually screw their bosses over somehow.

Anonymity among insecure national identities. No history which is itself a cause of this prolonged staring match can talk anymore. "A bit of a shrapnel head". I mistook an emporio mannequin for a poor man working. Went in to price check inflated waterbotz. Different boundaries i almost forgotz. Staff stick out cos of unbelievable stench in uniformout. Stick together and chat. Walk accidentally into open private cash area. Funny looks. Scat act- only path to innocence- or sex act. Show slavishness to their positions. Seems to be almost police station in number of policedoors and comfortable manner of patrol connotes local shop protection racket over any feelings of international air law. In the perfumery itslef the stereo is off or broken- lone staff kneels down below counter whistling the same 5 note jinle over and over in frontless show of customers.

Chronos: Save Love Production.

No going back now. Non one has X-rayed my baggage. If i vomit here various isolating factors will come into play (the boyish police psychic seemed at me knowingly as i thought about it):
     -Inspection of vomit- looking for unusual PH levels with his dipstick from his handy belt pouch.
     -Seizure of notebook- evidence. Precise description of its purpose. Ident Stamp- idea store id.
     -Fforced fill-in of incident report form to explain reasoning behind happening before check-in glass.

At the moving belt i accidentally flung an important tissue over into the official Xray zone,

    "in yiur bathroom sir? how many am i competing with? as i said i am confident- we can make a new business model...i'vev been selling pl_?_ for over twenty years...i've bitten off all my fingernails..."

O.K Dick is bad here. And so are the crap poets that use the O.K Space Tool. Too much of the same, common interests. Might be a talking point to sway me through to the classical zone. I can't picture the outside anymore.  It's dark reflections only show me and the moving colour people up. Total submission. Maybe i could use a fake knowledge excerpted rightless orchestral overtures to threaten them with copyright infringement. I know a few names to bargain with and i can count on them never having noticed music at work here or having foreseen any cultural insecurity arise. Social law and nothing else is between me and my being lynched by the onlookers. Saddeningly, the medium of restraint hovering above us, fostering bland domed thoughts, is the message. And it is this restraint -and desperate distraction through anything warped like the fish in pedicures- which is my seperation from them, brothers, dripping saps of my life and blood.

Again, maybe i could show them my most benign example of draughtsmanship as a sign of my humble service to the illusion- this unbelievably uncontrollable web of value-?
shattered cosmic marble
spins the blocof time,
builds department stores,
pumps the light through
green plastic escalators
to the distracted shopper;
notices empty sections,
tries not to think
about the spreading
tied knots of the recession-
strangling themselves from within
the recesses of the shop's mind-
the depressed furry rolls of fabric.

Monday, 17 October 2011

Muzeum Scare

Steep park road wall giants
the creeping Sacre Coeur monastry-hotel.
Little piles of sweepings slash residents
like they’ve been there for days.
Lawnmower pitch changes blades,
appearance on the static sexroom monitor,
stuck inside social security tramlines,
X Joe KGB Murphy Borders Bar,
Little david stars everywhere,
in regional brain patterns and
forest city paths,
leading laid back terror
even more morose.

The castle, the shrubs and
the Vietnamese shops.
Different dogs on different levels,
different slavish breeds,
leftover empirical noses up
here the new middle ground
is a high walled republic,
power-down signage syndrome.
Where’s the energy of the high-
street proletariat?  

Burrowed-for signals and
ridiculously steep walls
demand god lawful sediments
of poodle and granny shit,
various treaties in hand
over the toilet
trading creators.
Crapper still now-
with pretend partitions
to protect the invisible,
flat behind curtains &
the sleep forced
divisible wealth source.
Did you ever
Do a sprint run up
the thousand royal steps?
lung humbler & hunger
leaves you begging,
for state blocks of
polished slate, humane objects
of shallowness & introspection,
old workers relief
don’t take their heart
& lungs out,
40 years ishy
wishy thinking of days
today- reality,
frozen food,
empty yoga minds,
endless rolling cling films,
great adapting cronies
down there-
didn’t see a silver servant
converse with this
glazey-eye fat-nosed
10 krown gene vincent,
knacked out genes victim
since the feathers
in your hair
grew back there-
Glams no pockets,
Soviet Rockets,
memoirs & motorbikes,
halfway house postcard
streets- never given in
to floating dignity-lie
dead in some grace-
filled land-fill.
Child-stitched up
Swayed to deathby
brilliant ideas-
when mum’s away,
show us some self respect.
Role model is a doll-model
Sour Nanny don’t talk none
-no parents or teens-
just dyes roots lemon to death.

Cat on the roadside,
gaping jaw maggots
rotting granny’s manuscripts,
pissed itself into a flying car.

Mentally ill woman
behind us all
only exists when she does
makeup & hair,
plays around there
with her station name,
The Muzeum Scare.

Tapping tiles
under the ground while
dislodged members creep out
in a private public freak out.

((((((((((((((((((((Sonorous Squirts))))))))))))))))

Sonorous alerts program within
Compatibility with the continuous
Mind frames squirt out,
its public prams in.

New German base
supermarket opens
Peoples rush in,
characters freeze
on looped sound coming
from the new bread-lift.
Did not two jingles overlap
to no. one’s noticeable concern
with a tonal squeeze?
They wouldn’t accept it
in their music system;
No music plays through
people milling focusedly
up and down low aisles

Down the same road
a place plays on its audience
-the demographic sponge-
the idiotsyncratic talent.
The nothing rules.
Hits on new
Hits lodged-in
most populated regions
of the brain
and activate only this
 segment wit
semi-cohesive purpose results.

Bread ladies converge,
Relay codified information,
w/a gloucomic glass cow’s glance
psychic carrier nudge,
settled hair nets
 who reach the top of their lift
only to face eternity
of first shifts, fists first.

The hot yeasty production
The unimaginable underworld
Knows not what to judge
Nose not mouth to grudge
other divisions’ malfunctions.
The faceless umbrella manages
over arching inspiration and ambience.
It goes on till registration.
Out with my device!
Off with my archive!

And in the airpost too,
more extreme times
separate priorities.
Fire in the other part
6 times per minute
its objective offensive:
Sun the face
through the whole
giant green house.
Slow spread notices me
signalling determinated
security bursts
throughout the building.
Say, on polished marble how
do spec insect species respond
to meeting each other?
Think of these hands,
filed filaments glimmering
like a purpose
with whatever’s put in front of them.
Saw one drag
one of its own Queens.
Dead kind
but dry
n 'thout hind legs
across small patches of grass
to the community cremation.