Saturday, 7 March 2015
2014, n. yorkshire: water falling | dead rabbit | fast river | after a no. of miles | graze | coffee | pint of ale | fluffy dog | jet zoom |
2014, liverpool: coffee in a victorian cafe | this sort of thing helps | I'd like to re-arrange several of my only testicles tiddley pom to a jaunty tune | all of the light | eyes filling with the usual fluid | this chair is somewhat fuckin a metaphor and so is this drawing of it as well as one heartrending snatch of nostalgia c.. 1995 |
2014, midlands: outdoorsy tired cyclist body (from less than only 50 miles) sun'kissed' windblasted bit stiff but bit limber and roughnready styled quickstrip reveals veincords up arms legs hips tan tines and snugclothes pinchedlines, esp. thighs. all of the food means tum is kinda broad, head looks easterislandesque, bod hair almost slicked time for a shower
2014, w.sussex: lying on croquet lawn in my undercrackers | weeping willow whilst memory of moving here 22 years ago makes the usual fluid fill the eyes briefly
2014, e.sussex: nature effaces the grid | the 2nd person singular (always) |
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Annotations. A6. pp.1-24.
(1) BOOZE. UTTER BOOZE.
(2) 4-T.S. [4 tine spork]
4. S.T. [ 4 slice toaster]
1.5L.K. [1.5 litre kettle] T.C.K. [Turkish coffee kettle]
(3) ABrade
CoulDn't be arsed
EFfing heck
(4) Gammy Hammy
I Just need a little sit-down
KilL me now.
(5) MeNaced
OPening time
Quite Right too
(6) STandard issue
UnVarnished
WaXy walnut lump
Ya Zis is correct
(7) this blasted tree on a hill.
that blasted tree on a hill.
(8) 2 memories:
a curtain depicting cowboys and indians in a western landscape. Was it stylised spare pictograms in faded colours, or a primarycoloured cartoonish graphic crowding of jolly images? Our bedroom window (it was bow-, with bench seating space for stash'neath) curtained brightly, yes, a 1970s British skit on The West.
Chuck Heston's caravan curtain in the Greatest Show On Earth a more Americana-than-thou instance of the same myth imagery. His coffee-heating , talent-handling (and snogging), private space separated from the child-awe bustle of carnie-life by that layer of child-awed set of symbols as folk art soft furnishing.
(9) A GODHILL ALLOWING FOR ALL SORTS OF NATURE SYMBOL WORSHIP RITES.
--
RIGHT
FOOT
STRAIGHTER
AND MORE
EVENLY
PROPORTIONED
THAN ANY
FOOT
OUGHT BE.
WITH BEAUTY
SPOT ON THE
LITTLE. OOH
LA LA.
(10) a tent on a hill from which one can strike out to perform local rituals or shelter from punishments meted out by capricious gods of that jurisdiction.
(11) mug of tea hitting the spot.
(12) THE OLD DRAWING CLAW.
--
romantic montage of c-u's a
la D. Sutherland
J. Christie
in DON'T LOOK NOW cept Diplodicus'[i]
(13) um.er. urgh.
er. grrh.
um, eehk.
several
(14) AFFIX.
1. HAT
2. L.SLEEVE
3. L. TREWS [& c-b. boots]
4. see 2.
FIND AND REPLACE
SPATULATE. LEFT WING
= DESERT
(15) V.MATURE 2. I DONT WANNA BE A BEAR. 1. YOU ARE A BEAR.
(16) really
rather
decor
ative
porchframe
(17) PAINTED SHINGLE.
FOLKED cola WOODEN
PLAIN de TOOLED
PRACTIC milano DECORA
AL TIVE
(18) Fig. (a) something
(b)
(c) something else
(d)
(e) Figs (a)-(e) FRAMED
THING
S IN FR
AMES
(19) SELF PORTRAIT IN THE NIP WITH BURGEONING QUATERMASS LIMBS.
POSSIBLY APPLYING COCONUT BUTTERS TO SUNBURN.[c.&b. unq'd]
WHILST LISTENING TO JOY DIVISION.
'SHE'S LOST CONTROL AGAIN' WHERE 'SHE' COULD MEAN MY MUTANT ARM(S).
PHYSIO INSISTS MY QUADS ARE TOO DOMINANT.
IS "TOO DOMINANT" LIKE SAYING "THIS KEBAB IS TOO GREASY?".
BAD EXAMPLE.
(20) SHINGLED AS WOODFACED ARMY
OF BEARS, CATS OR SUCH LIKE.
(21) THE UTTER QUADRANT
CONGRATULATIONS. THIS IS THE 2MI
LLIONTH GLASS OF
BEER YOU HAVE SKETCHED.
YOU WIN A GLASS OF DARK STAR A.P.A. TO
(22) IDONTWANTTOBEABEAR
YOU ARE A BEAR
IN THE WOODS.
BUT NOT CURRENTLY PERISTALSIS.
OTHER WAYS OF MARKING TERRITORY INCLUDE
SIGNATURE WOODWORK FIT A FANCY DADO RAIL
(23) OH STEPHEN.
OH ENABLER OF STEPHEN.
--
THIS SORT OF MIDR
IFF C-U USED A LOT
BY J.F. IN T. SEARCHERS.
THE DUKES GRACEFUL
HANDS APT AT HARSHNESSES
(24) Bears I don't want to be either.
But am.
GRIZZLY BEAR. BLACK BEAR.
B E A
blue branchy crossing out maybe
Sunday, 25 August 2013
American soul in less than 237 pages/years (an equation in hunt for the Great American Novel(la))
Y= 74
pp. = 180
The Scarlet Letter / Hawthorne
Y=118
pp. = 128
Puddn'head Wilson / Twain
Y = 104
pp. = 176
Washington Square / James
Y =137
pp. = 128
O Pioneers! / Cather
Y = 149
pp. = 218
The Great Gatsby / Fitzgerald
Y = 163
pp. = 192
The Day of the Locust / West
Y = 175
pp. = 214
Catcher in the Rye / Salinger
Y= 176
pp. = 224
The Natural / Malamud
Y = 180
pp. = 128
Seize the day / Bellow
Y = 188
pp. = 96
77 Dream Songs / Berryman
Y= 194
pp. = 190
Desperate characters / Fox
Y = 199
pp. = 236
Ragtime / Doctorow
Y= 204
pp. = 219
Housekeeping / Robinson
Y = 206
pp. = 224
Dead-eye Dick / Vonnegut
Y = 208
pp. = 176
Democracy / Didion
Y = 212
pp.= 226
Tracks / Erdrich
Y = 218
pp. = 160
Black Water / Oates
Sunday, 10 March 2013
The human banjo, plucking himself from obscurity
Thursday, 15 November 2012
In the event of death all body parts up for donation
Liver. Deserves a medal.
What are kidneys for again?
Those bits in eyeballs that are all the rage. Take the bags underneath too.
Enough body hair to save several terminally understuffed sofas; pubic, to regenerate the merkin market.
Feet, hands: spare parts for paddleboats; ashtrays; umbrella stands?
Friday, 29 June 2012
I - aye, I'd eyed - Self-portrait as Velasquez's 'Mars'
I wake up with no memory of who I am. A card in my pocket with a name on it. I google the name.
There are three candidates for me.
1. An apparently unambitious artist with no evidence of a career in the past or future.
2. A dull-sounding librarian (is there any other kind?) working at a library at an institute at a university. Why so many 'ats'?
3. A cage-fighter.
I think I must be the cage-fighter. I feel like I have had many injuries, that this body is a patchwork carcass of wornleather over scar-tissue and gristle. I can imagine the violent rage nurtured in a boy with a softy first name. Maybe I escaped from my cage in a post-fight stupor looking for somewhere to lay me down, to find some place less cagey.
Friday, 3 February 2012
Travel observations from somethen (not rightnow)
It's the tourist equinox, the out-of-season/season cusp.
Saturday influx, tentative but obvious.
And now they come. It is Saturday 11am and the Electra Palace Hotel has its new season flock. 20 mins ago just me and the fisherman. Now, in twos, fours, and now sevens and eights, treading on sand 'n' pebbly beach like they're on the moon. First, tentative steps, checking the gravity, the footing – they may float off or sink in. A few sunbeds finally off their sides, their six-months anti-spooning becomes hybrid-missionary, accepting swim and seared sleepers and hatted sunglassed readers. Rare kid, spitter in the sea; checking what? Its acceptance or rejection of same or different (a foreign agent or a common element) – maybe the whole sea is spit. And piss. And sweat.
How long 'til a few bars open? I give them 20 minutes, 30, tops.
Old local woman prowls, senses photo opp. Practiced disregard – give em what they want. Mars icecream trucks urgent. Trucks with fresh new plastic outdoor furniture – urgent – on a mic!