Saturday, January 28, 2006

The Fights On My Hand...

rapaet, repaet, repeat,
tired use of language
seas of fog on western shores
eastern skies fly through endless outcasting of strangers and new dress
and you see me sit in electric
you saw my hand clapping my scars
I thank you they have almost healed

But I am...
I am wordless...
gratitude for seconds of meeting

I did not know your colour
the colour beauty
they didn't do that, not the ones you thought would cut me
you have prayed for me

when i walk
i forget to hear silence...

you have healed me...

here are a few more seconds...

Thursday, January 26, 2006

I Remember

I remember what you said
I keep away

And I can be calm

And I can laugh all the madness

And I can get annoyed
But cleanse myself easily

And keep safe

And stay away from what is not in your own vision

And go to sleep

And laugh

And regret
But make new what is old

Ancient is
Modern is

I remember

Saturday, January 21, 2006

An Emergency Poem written quickly, and some quotes...

Everytime I heard their evil words
In that gathered room in that house
I sat still and believed in him,
(and messed up
messed up)

When I heard them again
I hollered and cried
broke windows
threw myself, fought and cut my hands

As the men slept
I wandered down the stairs and tried to wake him lying there

'Wake up! Wake up!'

'Shut up! Go away!'

I lay down in the hallway dying,
I hummed slow words
that I forget,
Waiting for someone to lift me up,
And imagined I was holding someone elses hand.

I could have run, run, run
I even tried to hitch hike and was caught.

Torn by love
they locked me up
and brought me back to bleed my heart...

now I have beaten my wings, and wait, wait, wait...

Psalms 119


May your unfailing Love come to me, O Lord
Your salvation according to your promise,
Then I will answer the one who taunts me,
for I trust in your word.
Do not snatch the word of Truth from my mouth,
for I have put my hope in your laws.
I will always obey your law,
for ever and ever.

I will walk about in freedom,
for I have sought out your precepts.
I will speak of your statutes before kings
and will not be put to shame,
for I delight in your commands
because I love them.
I lift up my hands to your commands, which I love,
and I meditate on your decrees.

breaking changing...

Thursday, January 19, 2006


That's what my doctors to look after yourself your physical looking self as who else will to see to a conversation with such? Best to get away from mould, lest the mould begin to give belief of mourning unwashed prophets in the Bible...and you cannot differentiate...Father says I'm not the sort to pogo and wave my long hair about...

a different kind of thieving...

Charity coins, and in influx of scattered charity, brings influx of scattered joy...differentiate your joy, not what you percieve as 'getting lucky' I'd want to go near that, like I'd neither want to kill that but kidnap...would we all not be standing in line then, movements as one in the queue in Britain...?

You:... write about yourself , do not lie to me nor call me a liar, rather confused for there you have claimed lion when you are a scar, and tell me stories of how you kill your women, and I know what you call them and whether they were, you did not kidnap them when you had the means to, perhaps you are in prison today, and yesterday I said please don't be! perhaps you are, and really I secretly care when I calmly scolded you in the cafe, and told you, and you told me what you had done...a ploy to create cults that even then they threw you out of, your yellow monkeys your predictament, prediction, predicament, and now I see, you saw, who you mean't and how they stole white light, and how they roam roam roam...and your killer words, that were a metaphor for truth, but were still wrong just evil and tragic when you would not leave me alone, and assumed, wrong, wrong, wrong men, how did this happen?...and I began to believe you were in the wrong, i faced the temple and I knew what you had done to that girl who cut herself, to that girl who gets injected, to that girl who got locked up...and now the social worker has just called, worried? that I was suicidal, I did think and say I would overdose on my drugs that they say I don't ever take...but I can stand up quickly after I cry, cry, cry all day throughout town...and still they roam...

No let alone in busy adventure...

Monday, January 16, 2006

In Case I'm Not Here For A While

or Multi-Honour Tasking...

"Getting All White Womb, Baby! Moon Baby!"

I don't know why the moon has decided to reconstitute itself back into it's own place, I have spent a lazy five minutes researching the reasons, without any conclusion, but suspect it shines fully pleased through my 'yonder dahn the road' window at the fact I have a cleanly bedsit, almost, and the fact my redhaired floaty haired woman now has a support, i.e. my 'borrowed' 'futon', dark blue, resting against the wall complementing the background of the mural.
She has rather shocked eyes at times, drawn with an old eyeliner pen that I have given up giving a use for...last night, she looked rather sad, or was that this morning?

"What's a neo-jew?"

"And what constitutes a deep voice?"

I changed in school, grew darker thick eyebrows, a deep voice would break out in me at times, and I was sure it frightened everyone, in class I would turn mute to avoid the shame...and mute from never being able to speak of other troubles, at home, the teachers were shameful...I know longer have that problem except when I had questions I could not understand or make anyone else understand...

I hear men tell me they will break my heart, the ones that don't even bother to tell me they will are they drive down the motorway, their voices never cease to worry me. 'Some guy' left the mute girl yesterday, she kept trying to call him back, knows he is a bully, but a convenient one, like, he hotwired the electric, and I ripped a big hole in my coat by accident today...

As soon as he left, I called him, I had been quite normal about it all...then called him and said; "Why are you lying down and taking it like a bitch!" That was me to me, I guess. He promised to call but didn't today, I heard him with the other ones, laughing, getting stoned, and he is a grown man...!?

As soon as he left I jumped onto my bed without hesitation or thought and read through Hebrew psalms, slowly, not sure I was reading it properly, not sure if I wasn't, rocking as I stood...and stopped? Why?

Didn't want to frighten the neighbours?And then as I live my past and, in this generation, perhaps a generation before, I do not want to frighten the neighbours, nor hear their prejudice, which could become real, as I never see them, hear them talk through the walls at times, hear one of them laugh upstairs hear his TV...something told me I should eat food, rather than...microwave special fried rice, pieces of prawns and ham, see I am not, and I am. I left some on the table as evidence.

Then I practised a kind of yoga, ungainly I don't want to learn Yoga, but call it that, as though pretending to have a job directing traffic will ease the buzzing voice of passing cars, this leg straight, ease aching muscles, get out! get out!, one candle lit on the wooden flats at the end of my half bed-half sofa, that I don't even sleep in. Tried to empty thoughts, hear just the roaring sound of engines and wheels, ignore all thoughts and words jumping into my mind, prayed out, down! down! (we'll break your heart!) DOWN!, multi-tasking and discovering how and why prayer is so varied, wave hands up and down, in, inner...a real secret strange dance...then hang upside down to get some blood into my face...

And I sat there closed my eyes and waves floated up and up...

And then I didn't know what else to do, painted a little, put on TV...would have mesmerised myself...I don't hear them when I go out and talk to people.

Eurgh, Enough!!... Yur is Dirt[y]... huh?

(footnote: Meaning of

The World In A ShoeBox And Other Tales Of Misery

(Someone once said: write what you know and what you don't...Inspired to write differently from Observation of a certain book in the library, this story: England to Israel and back again)

A slurring hiss trapped in a plastic zone devoid of merchants, only sales companions that tune off the ability to hear,

"Let me show you all the magic I can do."

Feet walk across faux marble stones...

"They keep taking the piss" they say and a yellow flood fills the precinct, a girl half made of flowers spins through a repeated walkway, how to cope, cope, cope? plays a game of gestures that sometimes have meaning, but she has been imprisoned too long and never met a guru of sign language in the body, and hollers without opening her mouth, she is mute, a pagan?

"Drink my piss, fiends! Drink my piss!" One day someone will bottle it, the amount of water she drinks, label it, chain her to a machine for a quick available production, transepts and other words that frighten her...if this precinct has become a church she is running through the centre of the aisles, knocking down pews, "A new church! A new church! No, no, no, this is a lie!"
The knave, nave is forming her into right angles, she is correct, repeatedly uninformed...other words that frighten her, and the age of mortals growing jaundice and cowardly.

"If there is a park here I have never found it", she says to the skies/air, "If pills full of side-effects were found to create prophets I never knew it, I grind, I grind my teeth, everyone can hear my pain and when they forget to reply that I have no concept of pain, I ask them, why did I so often cut my flesh? To stop myself from running after what was perhaps never there. I feel in private, I act as though privacy is constantly taken away from me, I freak, I freak, I did not learn to sew, but I patched up my skin with networks, the net does not work, I am in the same place, I was born here but I am a new immigrant, that is how some are fooled."

They look at her sometimes, they like her hat, adverts on each straight built cavern,

"Hot Soup! Hot Soup!" she calls to the man who drinks coffee beside her, "I am Hot Soup! No! I need Hot Soup! Hot Soup!" (A Milesian confusion)

She hears a meeting of women, and realises, are they part her? parted from their flowers, she is scared that she finds a history in their Russian speak, a history that is not hers to fight, a history that met her once, someone she would have loved who spoke with the same language but not quite, parts and parts and halves and she believes she has to fight for her, and remembers there was no fight because she did not speak, she flitted past the loud curses, did not laugh, but the shouting men gave her a sense of circling oneness of anger, remembers the 'other beauty' of her own taste, how even there she forgot her words, put Greek yoghurt and salt in her coffee and forgot to tell the other that that madness was hilarious.

"Straight, Straight, all ready-made designs! Wonderful! He is all married! Married!"

"Famous, but actually better looking than the spears you throw, Pong Hong." she thinks the girl told her whilst they both tried to work out a crossword puzzle in the yard...(a friend found mute girl smoking a cigarette on a Saturday in the highstreet and invited her to the Bazaar) but at the time she was just feeling in the way, though invited as a stranger who would not motion herself, (but picked out a good looking skirt as though she had already decided on it before she looked through the rails and the piles) and didn't go back to the house... through the steel door and the tunnel gateway and the amazing scatty architecture, where flats were built without specification but she believes special specifically for her, nights through jasmine trees, leaves a coin for the trouble she took of drinking one of their coffees, buys a bottle of white wine, and no corkscrew, one of the neighbours tries to open it with screwdriver and flint stone, limestone?, ignores mute girl after a silent urgent conversation, "Find your husband!!" so the 'other one' flits back and forth down the stairs, and wine is shared before these strangers take mute girl to a restaurant where the tables and chairs are low but unfortunately there is no space to sit on the floor which she silently wishes to tell them she prefers, and the other one holds a baby... and she feels the mute girl turn not quite-worried white at that beautiful sight; who still hasn't washed because of a whole mess of travelling coffins and things needn't talked about, yet, and lost her shower-things, and refused modestly (for reasons known to herself) to shower in any place near 'other girl', and one of the other girls offers her deoderant, even a dress to wear... and looks up as the meal is paid for and asks again, does mute girl wish to pay me money? and a photo never taken of a shocked look. Mute girl pours milk from a bag into a whole jar,

"No...We don't have bags in England." (A Fenian cheeky grin)

"Speed! I need some speed." Her own laughter, she realises she can speak in that house!!

And she didn't go back there in two weeks like she promised she would.

And God speed.

(part of a new series of short stories, nu-style, written in yet another shopping centre)

Friday, January 13, 2006

Shopping Mall Feelings...

Critique: Those who give themselves the perception of being Machineheads, afraid to have a conversation...put their hands out for money, and in my vulnerability I feel them go through me...the lights are above me, and the radio is on, should keep away...too body, when there is no-body...find meaning

Shopping Mall Feelings...

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Letter To A Newly Discovered System Of A Down Letter

message to message to circuit boards
I see your game and your fame
this a private note
my boots are cheap
cheep, cheep, cheep

you always scream war
I am the only one that hears
tears, tears, tears
I have just discovered your fears
and your swimming pool, and Mercedes

and your beating through the tree
it all comes unstuck when you see me
and disconnect your lines
disconnect your lies, you do not fight,
you baby, cry

and always calling me
predicting chains to make me silly
are you deaf?

I have a responsibility to turn back the pages
And stick back the bindings
and stop the babies failing
and stop your hatred wailing

you beat up the tree
you say you want me free
but you are
you are
too high too high
upsetting every soul in the sky...
now, now, now, now
think of now, now, now

i saw you i saw you
i saw them do nothing but watch
i heard you i heard
i keep calm
keep calm
must keep

takes this away with you...
and I'm sure you give them alms...

The, I Hear, The Wind...

Did I hear God and David arguing?

Did I hear God getting annoyed with me, calling through the wind, and David try to reason with him? Or Mohammed?

I stayed up these last two nights to hear the words on the wind...but I am short of hearing...

To steel myself and lead...

I only throw balls of paper...

I heard a woman scream through the wind too, and believed someone I knew had died...

I read a book I wrote and never finished, it revealed all my foolishness and some of my almost finished on these words...I will let someone I trust and love read it, if I can find day...
Proverbs 20:13

Love not sleep, lest thou come to poverty, open thine eyes and thou shalt be satisfied with bread...

'And try to keep them shut when someone is being too noisy'

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

TowerBlock Tomb

footnote: I apologise, I have been killed again........Timing is inconcieviably turned outer and broken by series of hard knocks...lack of order....lack of communication...lack of senses are percieved to have been over crowded by those they hold dear when in fact slime crawls through each wall of the tower block....and senses are percieved as sickened sexualness, when in fact life here has been turned upside down...and peace is counter active to what is actually known to be a call...and dispondence has been deaden into ability to strive and repeat what has already been created...words are flowing through and never will creativeness be drowned in poverty or malicious gossip and thoughttrained blocks that walk on legs...assume silence....assume a cloak of organised noble hidden dagger...betray not your percieved knowledge of what they deem is to outcast...for they think not they have killed a puzzling jigsaw piece, and grab at my neck to astral project...old women talk to me through floors...and I fear...I slept yester day as her body was carried away...lives fall...livers fail...slime creatures are barking into the white beckoners and I am not full enough to account for is nothing etheral, and is it is physical and isn't and I am monogamous polygamist and I will have nothing of a taking away of my own breaking heart, stand by and speak to me...white steel...into the ordinary...give them your outer words that come from good inner not play dangerous games...I fainted at 4 this morning, my ears were buzzing with the sound of locusts...I held the pillow and fell on the floor...I will never eat bacon again...

This Week's Cheer in Small Town:

I will politely stand by and laugh with the outer comedy of no trouble town...

a groom surprisingly thin, very tall and dark slaps the car of women, calm down! calm down! they feel fear too...or really are just drunk...? I remember that scene with joy...

I imagine with laughter the woman whose dog has been stolen, glad, it aggravated my nostrils...I imagine her running round waving her arms about, my dog! my dog! and then believe it was her who kicked a hole in the glass door, at the bottom of the tower block...

you have kicked a Whole...small mercies please...this is not the danger zone.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Quotes are never better than Origin...

"Here is a book I never even heard of, sir," said Mr. Segundus, "The Excellences of Christo-Judaic Magick. What can you tell me of this?"
"Ha!" cried Mr. Norell. "It dates from the seventeenth century, but I have no great opinion of it. It's author was a liar, a drunkard, an adulterer and a rogue. I am glad he has been so completely forgot."

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel, by Susanna Clarke.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Letter To Dolphin Wife

continued below:
Dear Sharon:

DUMP THE DOLPHIN DUDE (I would rather he was not killed), GIVE WorldWildlifeFund £10, 000 and GIMME A NICE HOME, please>>>AUREVOIR... begin my Baudeflair...

XXXX ;-)

Inner Town Centre Misery

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Off The Level, On The Line, Out Of Order

I called a same age aquaintance I once knew, placidly, platonically, the other day, Wondered how the other one on the telephone was, but before the reply came through to tell me;
I was thought to be a dead 'un and that she was glad gratefully to know I finally decided to reassure her that I was not, quite, and that she only walked into that brick in her face, and that it's difficult when I'm all over the place and can't even relax in my own home, if she was as sure as I, that I'm not almost quite sure I have one yet, and would be man enough to not let her worry so, rather than running off again to feed my caffiene addiction...
When some over concerned shall we say? bully grabbed her phone, punched her in the face and
Screamed down to her 'you were fucking her!' through my line 'you've killed her' from her in the frazzle of....

I did not cry
because I am in the middle of a conversation

and of course his line should have started breaking up by then
I am sure the phone is being bugged

hold my hand, woman etc etc watch out
modesty police
pig police
no, let him talk while you're laying there he's worked it out already it's just stress

(and realise that calm discussion between both of you is the best thing here
and here I am VERY CONFUSED and holding onto my man's hand too)

'court adjourned'

excusez moi? what? hellooooooooooooo?

so the conservation a turn for the worriment
as though I can remember
t o u g h (to me)

02 January Late in the Night ....see Hold....

If You Can't Count, Can't Read, Can Be