Gotterdammerung opens!
The end of the world as they know it.
This afternoon my unquenchable thirst
is accompanied by a mind made of puppy fur
There is energy, but it is all over the place,
thin and wayward, dry and soggy, like those ill
-kempt meadows or ruffled lawns. Making meadows is
no laughing matter: neither is the end
of the world, no matter whose
Is it sleep wakeshiftime?
Only just before clocksays nine, a warm still heavy evening groove, musky dusky, smell of drying hosed down earthy foodstuffs, traffic air settling taxi rank , no breeze or trees. Still heavy yield summer night. Ninetheless…
My kaftan is wet; music grates, wringing it makes me feel warmer than bevor: it shouldn’t. Trampstink: that’s it; stale groin, summer stale. out of conditioner. Bouquet of ersatz snow drop.
Go jump in a vacant lake. Can’t walk. Again. Still can’t walk. Gurn and bear it. Dense. You brought it all on yourselves monitors read say so no-one else is to blame. To blame. No-one else? There be scapegoats available ! Surely… go make someone up then.
You’ll do. A reader. Now, what are you like, Reader? Read…err.
Shivereeeeeeeeee.ee.eee.
‘Would you like your kaftan hung up outside?’
‘How can I reach it in the morning? Hang it up on the door…but even’
Cannot hang out and retrieve your kaftan? Liar. You could if you tried a bit, but I get your point about leaving shit around. Look at it. Everyfuckingwhere. Have a cider and forget it, you sullen self-pitying sack of soppy cyprian spuds from Syracuse…
‘Pass me the tepee, I’m unsettled.’
‘In a minute, I’m doing something’
Nothing comes of nothing. Something then, better than nothing; unless nothing is something. Back to square one, or the same one that where we were. Were. A funny place you always return to, even now; or, then. Slipped it your notice the slipping. Don’t slip: you don’t notice yet you know, don’t you know. How does it feel when you are not it, tell me? Prithee counsel me, I impish floor you. Prithee finger food.
‘Voulez vous volleyball?’
Volestranglers of the world delight?
A funny thing happened the other day, but I missed it.
Troy fell again
it appears
It barely got a mention
With all that was going on
Round here
What with the weather changing
The permanent fishy smell
The limping gormless misfit
~
As a ballerina in transition
from one side to other there is one question
I get asked above all others
And that is
‘Have you met with much resistance?
I can say hand on heart
‘Little’ without fearful contradiction
But I care not a jot in my summer frock
Running amok
fetching Apricock
Those feet are not mine
Not my feet for sure
Are they your feet?
Yours sincerely’s
Or someone else’s
hand me downs
Slice up blood orange
groovy silver drainer top
provides an awkward abattoir
sacrificial altar piece
makeshift place to
unwield rustic
ludic rusty knife
to serrate
to appease desire
jag mutilate Seville
in garish tattered gumshield
quartered segments
skin & pith intact
snaffled up cutish juice flesh
tense borne by bent paw
over chasmic chasm sinkwell
The surefoot chariot passes over
Imperious, regal, sublime
galumphing Phoebe sated
licks syrupy lips, sighs & leaves
above vile understuffs
Ophelia melts crushed ice
just as passions rise
reach levels acceptable for mid-July
well before calendars ruled the earth—
pregnant burden rowdy satyr
—pitta patter of cloven hoof bubbling in the cauldron pot—
rapture fakes tradition
like salmon mimic
rudeboys chewing anthracite
Winsome day stares back in pearl,
lysine satyrs rake hay
before smoothies crushed yellow fibrous thing smacks
up velvet ice age, commit starfruit
guilt on hyacinth, hubris
—deliver us from antiseptic chores, come five it should be done
and dusted save the mighty
fallen rune stones these
that sully my fresh chemise?
The permanence of it!
outrage conceals mendacious logics.
Watch dust settle fast like loopy gifs.
I picked up pretending
I was stoical like tapioca blinds
— how strange thoughts of red meat, fish and fratricide are when putting out the compost
Rinsing dishes salves scene four,
just bear in mind damp
tea towels conspire like mathematicians
in pleasingly random numbers, that’s when
the claxon insists
on sacrificial offerings
— three day old goat’s milk sorbet and bluebell sponge
Not really much to add
As to whats been said, said Dr Watt
sniffing digits for giveaways
·Best go play it doggo a few days old chap say forever bury deep·
More like advice to self methinks
sobbing prone alone
violate throbbing ringpiece
shorts round ankles
let it end…
Act one required!!!—
long slow drip condenses:
shower spray gas oven clock
Standing hors d’oeuvres of the day—
First crank up your fruit machine ·
contact · contact chocks away!
Thinking it over gas oven…umm—
cold shower queasy option
worlds warm up after lunch
pure stale air & nectarines…
all to save a few bob·
thus make life palatable
my pleasure all mine at once·
servile oven servant—
in full mess off time but must
(p r o k r a s t I n a t e)—
what comes of no what-what?
Favoured hairdo bee hive·
fink hard about it…Umm
many moving parts in doing·
mount or surmount table
(fuck me a talking keyboard)
here come some trusty hounds
ripping bread to shreds
orange houses sleep just sleep
What will Monday bring?
Screaming abdabs in my pants
Tinkerbell was furious
Cursed her lucky star & turned over to seethe
‘We are sorry to hear
of your miserable existence
and insist you contact a higher authority—
Yours Faithfully, Walt’
Talk to Mickey Mouse himself,
Up close and personal
There might be something doing
Perhaps a letter, a formal request
To talk it over, chew the cud
About the good old days
Before animation came to a sticky one
Stole away our childhood anarchy
privatised collective conchshellnes
Personified Vietnam a glitch
Seen Through GI Gilmore’s peepers
In the Jungle Book of Life
Apocalypse Now & again builds zilch!
Was justice a matter of time
After masque pastiche, rehash
Hanging out dirty washing
Computer generated egos
Optical soma catatonics
bLack Monday sods all
comers peering through the murk
waiting ante post—
traumatic stress disorder decides
on own chosen course
indigence proceeds apace
regular beatings infrequent due to staff deficiencies·
still there’s always clear and present danger to fall back on
when all else has failed·
industrial action once promised never threatens
The day turns
on
fifteen minutes
will he or will she not come?
I have unlocked the door,
fetched out the crap,
brought in the milk.
It is very windy and
the sky threatens rain.
Things that deter unnecessary travel.
Four minutes to eleven.
Looks like a no show.
Make alternative arrangements.
Change tack.
Map out a new course.
A new modus vivendi.
Episodic enema soils domino all-knowing eyeliner, smelling rosy-posies, wrinkling up blue barley blaze, singing snarl laments, waving jolly rogers, two fingers up to bloody brutes, burning perfect pitch, atop vinegary hill, picture prayer card poseur priest issues old sago wind up cry—
‘gerrup yous lollabouts for I lead to clear catastrophe’
As a one they rise in confluence to flee the pungent smell of leatherpiss and rotten grapes. This done its home for tay and jallop, pen a ballad, and settle down snug to dream of giggling gombeens…thinks for dat either way, diss gift of liff, made a hames so far—
bad blood, bad houmous, yellow nile, burning figs…
So come Slocomb scrapping, conniving, bad smell rising, bicycles unchained are no more than scooters, technoprat, hence the n-name: Scooter Slowcomb, perpetrator of indecorous road rage and ragworthy ragout, romper stomper, heart of mould, broken nasal baritone par pestilence, snag buster, cringe maker by royal appointment to the House of Cheese & Biscuits
—lead us on a merry dance, big stink. Our souls need filling up with pink creasote and love apples. My tum-tum winks, my throats a slit. Lead on McDuff. Lead on!
Quince, loyal marmaliser heft a mighty wad. Big hearted and shortsighted as Lordy Arturo Pendraggin, pinch nose of mauve snuff, veruka and blisterine: one tough geezer, well rounded clap trapper, conviver, bonifaced spouter of drivelriddles, a Sucker for nourishment. World view contaminant or ripe plump pluckable legumes and succulence, thuswise rotunda temper thunder sunjugated by munch and prickle, keeper of the nipple, chanteur of logorythm of wife, Thermal Spottie Ars—
In for a penny, in for a mound. Shake fist and writhe, boyo Bucky. The ones got your gnome ennit! Let brittle commence, Fifthwith. Chard!
Knees up, tumbledown, grunties, spillage.
The rest is herstory…
Approaching six ye olde bells
From an obtuse crimson angle
Poised to emphasize
birdsong unfurling charcoal
lamp light found flagging
old stone rolls over moist
Far distant dawn horizon
Difficult it is to view
The world disappear
From more of a distance
Than I do at present—
David Hume wrote that just once
While dying before
Social media cropped up
Unexpectably
In the blink of an eye
At the press of a button…
Latifundium
Quite out of the blue
Extends as far as
the third eye can see
start the week with off
an epic why not
see a fine lady upon
a white horse called Uffington
over the style follow the path
sidestepping all the sheep shit
till you come on an eye socket
full of wastepaper
and suburban terrorists
dropping crap in droves
on this hill of ancient times
traffic jam & Jerusalem
lacking investment
except for more golf courses
built by subhuman eyesores
say let’s call it Bunker Hill!
Grimbeau 