Sunday, February 18, 2007

Picnic At Hanging Rock

We wanted to take the mountain,
So, like the destiny of the picnic,
On the hanging rock,
We wore our white dresses,
Flicked our hair back,
Tresses surmounted by none in beauty,
We climbed,
Climbed, rotten cucumbers in our bags,
Sweaty and wet,
Flaccid and green.

The sun,
A torture.

Mesmerised by dead doe eyes,
And the hot wrinkled backs of iguana,
We stifled and sank.

Disappearing into the original heat,
The white wheaty grass,
And the light of sun-stroke,

Where am I now?
What have I become?

Slightly shorn, white dress translucent,
I am mist,
Morning dust,
Orange rolled back eyes,
Spotted deer being ripped from behind.

They come from all sides,
All sides now.

I am hiding in brush.
White fear-eyes,
Dots of green that hold you,
Do not look for me at hanging rock,
I am swollen;
red dots of blood are my punctum now.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Faust V

"Well, legendary non-releasers King Mong never got they acclaim they deserved and it was just as well because if I'd have got hold of the fuckers I'd have kicked them amongst the balls and no mistake, the arty twats."

Taken From Twiggwitch, Spirit Of The Chestnut Tree: The Fall and Further Fall Of King Mong; Logorhythm Books, Eire.

Faust - Triump-ent

A Yousendit Microzonal Emblematic

Sunday, February 11, 2007

"From the Ballad of Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Over The Rainbow

With just a hare breadth between us - *little Rowan loved to play in the fields* etc - we tried our hands at making bread. Got all yeasty and overexcited. The slapped seconds between the *love* triangles that I'd tried to form in my youth (you, you, not you) and the irregular parallelograms of my middling years, when slack became jaw and hands wrinkled like wormholes, made all the difference: you could feel the time sliding across our skin as the doughdust scattered into the air...

Blixa Bargeld - Over The Rainbow

A Yousendit Nostalgic Gypsy Claim Form

I think it was Pascal, might easily have been one of the lump-eyes from the farm.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Yagga Blues

Nurse With Wound - Yagga Blues

A Yousendit Tetandtoasty Sound Productiiiiion

It's a dope expression that describes yo joy and groove state, being used by Jamaicans.

When you have a hood time, you throw your hands up in the air and scream: "Yagga".

It means that you be agree ta get tha shizznit poppin. It be like a call like sayin': "Let's get it started!"

In some way, it means: " "Fuck y'all bitches want, whoa
I'ma stay poppin shit
Anybody want it? Come see me, what?
Fame.. yagga.." by Foxy Brown (Na Na be like)

Here, she be like that she be goin' to start her shit an' when she said: "Yagga" in tha end of her speach, she warned us she be startin' it.

I'm still urban as fuck, even if this cursed child has turned into a poetry blog.