Grimbeau

Scroodles

Category: writing

Scintillation Street

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Phone kaputt, foot stingling, grey skies. mid November, poppies out
toast and marmite, neuronal go slow, where’s the nurse. changed pants

pulled down the wall, no hard feelings, let bygones be bygones. forgave
and forgot; appeal to greed; feed false appetites; chew over the fat over

the weather to come when the water cascades down the Appenines
hit twelve after struggling hard rawfooted through Bad Toe Gulch,

ruffled jackdaw shares with me acute consternation at the heavy frost
settling on the chocolate slates on the empty house in Lima

brackish water slakes mad thirst, one twenty in the shed, chronic
overcrowding I say when pressed and later consult a random saviour
with magenta eyes

Carmine Lakes

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The task before you
is to take the mood of last years
winning of the esteemed competition and tell it from a
fresh perverted angle, let’s say wobbly omniscient for starters…

Three insistent knocks distracted him, the dog went off soon after.
He got up and saw the small white van: the opioids had made it.
Earlier on while watching Idol on Parade, musing on Bowie’s heroes,
and working out when exactly the truck full of dead Chinese bought it,
he had taken an opioid to kill the pain in his oracular toe.

The original is a story of divorce and reconciliation
which when the drugs took hold ended in an aircrash caused by
a wayward roguish drone, collapses in hysterics;

Fate, predestination, and indolence hide in waiting
all contained in a white lozenge that disintegrates in water.
He drew the grid for a Celtic knot haphazardly.
There were no children involved in this thought experiment.
They had perished the night they lost it
racing to not miss the last boat leaving.

What did it matter now?
There is water under the bridge.
Beware! Loose Chippings and
Smash.
That was the best thing she said

Happitalismus Rules KO

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IMAGINE a handful of bitesize hunkettes
grinding and eschewing odds and winnow gunk
as wheat gets beat from from dusty chaff;
a’harvesting for instant potassium milords;
ill and non directed groups share
no such similarities;
no such what as absolutes in such
matters
of incidental fiction;
manipulation of a squashy universe of racketeers, bogus schemes and brutal intrigues:
That’s Life—thats Happitalismus; so sundry fictive people say
just look the other way if you know what’s good for you;
plenty more lying around to fill your brambled mind with;
such as…such as…such as…
This
* it is worth noting that the child whose father refused to purchase a bow wow succumbed to her injuries
as a wallflower met a sticky end stood up too close to the warm glow of endless possibility
grip it firmly shake it hard squeeze each last drop out grasshopper
rigid condensed uptight desperate dabblings in matters
outwith all known comprehension clearly aren’t your forte

The Cocked Up Party

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Cedric found the Marquess of Coole spreadeagled on the Ottoman with the ‘Half Life
Of Snails’ in her bloodless grip & posted the footage on Snuffchat so Henry knew
Edward G was still at large capable of unspeakable atrocity. After all the drawing room
was full up with blistered aubergines, midget broccoli festooned the architraves, and
a hairless Headcase whimpered soulfully wrapped only in a samphire ballgown.
At heart Henry had twigged the man was just a pushy upstart from Central casting;
the one they always let through, the dead loss leader, the hollow idol to kill off with
strychnine on a wet afternoon but the uranium ran out at the wrong time

Think of the afterthrill of eating chocolate in the dark and feeling a little moist afterwards.
It was all pff course and a huge charade. The long positions would still hold firm on cupidity and smarm, he thought of Peregrine out at sea huntin marlin for that snitch Veronica. Nailed up and bleeding effluent from every orifice he was lost, hooked, lined and blinkered by her gums. Henry understood too well how lesser narwhals would fold under such pressure and morph into slum beauticians sweeping up in delapidated nail bars. But this was not Cedric’s script. He always sought delineation. For him things were simply matters to order and control. With that in mind Henry set off for the bakery.

Cool shrooms and anchovy bisque, homespun alphabetti spaghetti:sounds illegible; fungal magic soused in honey.Cheryl really had pushed the boat out this time. Always too keen to please. After all
she was born nutritionist: worst acne I ever saw. She wore a homespun hood with slits to breathe and see. Takes all sorts suppose. They call her Elephant Woman. But never to her face you understand.
Well I mean how can you? Inappropriate

Some farewell letter you’d agree. Henry was agog. Edward G had legged it for good. All hell breaks loose in the utility room. The kittens go bananas at the sight of giant mouse. Henry takes a powder. A smell of camphor burning. Whose stockinged feet are poking out this time? Colonel fucking Sanders?
Smell him all over.

The Milkman Cometh

GLASS CEILING

 

 

check to see what that note
is in that cyan bottle
really do I need that wash
that banking thing perplexes me
that extinction rebellion take lambeth bridge
police stage that media retreat
world in that commmotion
workers of the world that relax
the milkman that made it through

Why the Fiddler Fixed the Roof

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grimbeau's avatarThe Avocado

Babs the Woodpigeon gave issue in the silver birch by the back window as we questioned solipsism over sticky buns . Les Bleu Dragoons, Pipe & Fyffe dervishers, Slasher & Tom-Tom Tittle-Tattle, entertain us as the pallid seraph of Dumfries drops in  and from time to time utters out of the blue– but it is February after all, winter’s dogend spells an ill wind crisp blows in as horny handed thugs on drugs, sporting primrose neckties, shiny yellow wellies, hard-nut-to-crack walnut titfers, suspended on high rise hopes, twitching in direct sunlight through X-Ray Specs collude.

See the world through blue crystal galoshes  breaking in wind spirits to get up & gallop thru upstairs vacant chambers, confidential papers scatter, still a radio that plays non-stop, filling up swallow moods, trying to keep cool & tarry on, raving on like Long John Donne, aloof in trailblazer and spats, ready crispy salty dogman, star of screech…

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The Mystery Chef (uncensored)

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Cool shrooms and anchovy bisque,
homespun alphabetti spaghetti:
Sounds illegible
Cheryl really had pushed
the boat out this time
Always too keen to impress
She was a nutritionist from birth:
worst acne I ever saw
She wore a hood with slits
To see and breathe
Takes all sorts suppose
We call her Elephant Woman
But never to her face
Well I mean how can you?

Little Old Apes

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Any old iron from Madchester
presents private versus public school
a sniffy cult to keep tabs on so tell me do

Was time well spent preparing
before chapel of rest muzak
on a sunday afternoon

Stuck in a full blown fall down shack
spectating collective bouts of capricious
audacity dissolving like opioids in a deep sea squall?

That’s one hell of a question
to ask of one in the prone position…

when confronted by such a chorus of indifference

Why not just admit to it?
okay yes i got a good whack for being brash with hapless slaves when they got pollarded by lunatics who got their kicks for waving pooh sticks at with real pooh and got bashed up till the cows came home for milking and it was about then a replacement substitute was found abroad squatting on the shoulders of aphids; how seldom do us little apes
learn to carry on by candlelight at all?

The Indian Summer of the Tory Party

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Cedric found the Marquess of Coole spreadeagled on the Ottoman with the ‘Half Life
Of Snails’ in her bloodless grip & texted Henry so
Henry knew Edward G was heinous culpable and twigged at once he had to go.
After all the yoke was full with blistered aubergines, midget broccoli festooned the architraves, and a hairless Headcase looked perturbed wrapped only in a samphire throw.
At heart the man was a pushy upstart from Central casting; the one they always let through, the dead loss leader, the hollow idol to kill off with strychnine on a wet afternoon
Think of the afterthrill of eating chocolate in the dark and feeling a little moist.
But it was all a charade. The long positions still held firm on cupidity and smarm
Peregrine was out a sea huntin marlin for Veronica. Nailed up and bleeding effluent from
every orifice he was hooked, lined and blinkered
Lesser narwhals would fold under such pressure and morph into glum beauticians sweeping up
in seedy nail bars.
This was not Cedric’s script. He sought delineation.
Things were simply matters to
order and control.
He set off for the bakery.

Telegraph

monday

 

Aisling muse done gone walkies
down the labyrinths of Tyre fair
repairs and ultimata haughty
hang loose on the punic air

mean auld half life swell of atoms
resembles cuddly kittens tussling
kinda neat coincidence
such simple little things
make life all worth it:
city slickers at an exhibition
exhibit very poor behaviours

Prussian blue sorted  Caesar
who now seethes inside in exile
sipping stale mint juleps
rehearsing trust me smiles