Friday 30 May 2008

Thursday 29 May 2008

A Love Poem

Cherry blossom and my foot
Entwined with black-haired octopus ink
At the parquet eardrums
In this face with snails beneath my belly.
Handfuls of frayed, taped, cables
Fill the boxes of my nervous system,
Their kettle-leads teeming with bloodworms,
And I cast before you
Shoals of glittering, chattering, wrasse
That speak your name.

Saturday 24 May 2008

Hello Pleasant my stranger!!!

Give joy to your beloved woman,
A tentative

Dammit Jim!
Stop squandering your youth now,
The girl is looking for you
To do april.

Bring joy to your life,
Highly sought after
From me with love.

And now you know ... The Rest of the Story.

Be seeing you.

Thursday 15 May 2008

The Sniper's Manual

Pick your target with some care, particularly when your enemies are all dressed alike.
for Martin Marriott

Wednesday 14 May 2008

Guard dogs are expensive

The hypnopompic message was received this morning, the picture was taken some months back on a dérive around the Olympics site.

Thursday 8 May 2008

The Horns of Mithras (E6)

Music they have, but not the harmony of the sphears, but loud terrene noises, like the bellowing of beasts

Tuesday 6 May 2008

Oracular predictions of Boris's London

... the damned Home Counties, always London's bane, her worst enemies, her potentially deadly parasites. They're driving out most Londoners and taking over our houses, street by street ... Complaining all the time, these half-educated drones are filling up Fulham and Finchley with their stripped pine and snotty little ill-trained babies, taking over our resources, creating ghettos as they go. London will soon cease to be cosmopolitan. Those pale-faced parkers are all the bloody same ... They should be kept in reservations, limited to South Ken and to Chelsea, not encouraged to move into Clapham and Battersea and god knows where else. You hear them moaning about the people who were born there as if those were the interlopers. It's classic imperialism.
Moorcock, '88

Friday 2 May 2008

A Dream Image

An image that had haunted me for years, after a dream I had in a friend's house in Barnet. In my dream my hand had snapped back to reveal pencils stored inside my arm. Robert Smith from The Cure was hammering at the door.