Wednesday 31 August 2011
It is merely recognised.
There is a dog plus computational power.
A warring body is shattered.
Food is poison.
Power is reduced.
Fingernails, sweat and hair are unassimilable.
It is merely registered.
A series of organs in combat.
There is, simply, life.
A red globe is drifting down through shades of gold.
Flesh driven by outrage.
It is stripped, to bare denotation, of imagination.
Power turns on itself.
Consumption is destruction.
Power turns in on itself.
Tuesday 30 August 2011
Realism Be realistic We
are in a ditch Be mature
A mature strategy I am
mature (You are immature)
Be realistic We are in a ditch
Mature is the good Realism
is mature Be grateful They
talk They listen They
disregard Be grateful I
am mature I am good I
am transcendent I can see
Be grateful for me
We are in a ditch
Under a tower
There is no
Follow me I
will take you
into the tower
Monday 29 August 2011
Turbulent dark tides
returning flashing reflections
A malevolent fiction of consistency,
sclerotic vicious infection He is
dragged towards obedience She is
pushed, legs wracked
Dependence fusing with the requirements of an economic elite
whose idea of flexibility is a shuttling carbon unit at minimal cost
She’ll be grasping light, she’ll be eating it
He’ll swill great gulps of cold air, of warm air
They are undefined by metastatic mutations
proliferations of prostheses
preferring not to, playing at betraying
spreading and threading through
an immense shifting labyrinth of concrete
brick steel and glass desire
finite and endless
Sunday 28 August 2011
An explosive flash A physical image A
driving through a window, through plate glass
A significance that cannot yet be grasped
A flame lick A crunching boot that is fleeting
A partial understanding that is preserved
A night rushing A moment of panic A
context An eye stinging A blink A
tear A surge of joy A sensation of
warmth on a cheek An explosion of cant
A tightening of fear A bewilderment A
piercing of sirens A fury of loss A
grazed knee A tear in jeans A brief
electric gleam off flying shards of glass
An excuse for repression A skittering of
laughter A voyeurist hypocrisy A
missed opportunity A ranting frustration
An insistent courage An act of vengance
Saturday 27 August 2011
Standing through pearlised light pushing uphill,
trembling sun reflecting cries of reluctant consciousness:
traffic, jet engines, an orange coat. Breezes
curl, lifting, pull shining bubbleskins apart, strip
skins, dazzling brief infinite.
Brown eyes die under orders
Hands claw seizing wheels
Light expands drowning vision
Ceiling cracks emitting night
Pale vapour tears
Colourbursts fresh scenting desire light
expansive bubbling clarity
of rock ‘n’ roll shining black reflecting blue
to be born to be sunshine to be
exhausted headfull rubble sleep over a word.
Airburst imminent immanent throatfull of paralysis
They will sleep differently anew entering a new room,
they will get up get up get up smudging half light,
their laughing solidarity taking a reconfiguring turn
glugging throats open spines fizzing fresh light
to fingertips daily hailed by alienation and encumberment:
light will not decelerate and water won’t flow backwards.