Wednesday, 23 August 2017

SOFT MAINTENANCE HARD FURY



in the optician

talking about blue light wavelengths


and its ok

the guy is ok

he got deep brown eyes

in his phd head
i must stare at
while he sharpies my lenses

but i want to shout out

fuck all the glasses
fuck it all
fuck you all
and storm into the street

wild

and
absurd

an orphan ember


flung

and
fading

~


in the dentist


its ok i spose


and

among
other
questions
that
i
leave
blank

i have to rate my smile

from 1 to 10
on
a
clipboard form

i give it a 10


but

dont
use
it
here

cos i want to shout out

fuck all the teeth
fuck it all
fuck you all
and storm into the street

wild

and
absurd

an orphan ember


flung

and
fading




Image result for solitary EMBER

from emberscreencasts.com

Tuesday, 22 August 2017

FUTURE NEWS



the worlds last tobacco smoker died today.  

148 year old Phelony Spentlove, heiress to the Solar-Sketchers fortune, died due to complications in a surgically assisted birth of her fifth baby panda.


the panda is said to be doing well.


the worlds tobacco reserves were bought up wholesale by Phelony some 60 years ago at the height of the soil crisis.  


illegal in 99% of the worlds accessible landmass, tobacco smoking is still tolerated in Himalaya Atoll, where Ms Spentlove kept a penthouse.


Phelony shot to fame at the age of 100 as the first human to successfully incubate and deliver a live infant mammal of a different species, in this case a marmot named Bathtime.


she is survived by Bathtime, her five pandas and her husband-in-law Kenneth Glasshouses, 24.


dirge-hop conductor Kenneth, know for his prosthetic beaver tails, released his fifteenth billboard hit cast, 'My Arse Be Damming' early last month and was touring in the Netherlands Archipelago when the news broke.


he is currently unavailable for comment.


the board member for Benson & Hedges has indicated he will attend any services.


in other news the equator is still on fire.  


officials are still divided on what to call the phenomenon, despite clear agreement of the polled population for Firey McFireyface.


although we here at WBC believe The Burning Ring Of Fire to be an obvious choice.   


the fire is approaching its fifth anniversary and unverified sightings of phoenix's have increased tenfold.


reporting from Northern Australia our science correspondence Bethanyny Parkingjoy had this to say, 'Migrating geese on fire do not a phoenix make.' 


this up before the hair-weather and ad-sport - EU Sheriff Grandy Botanic has indicated concern over the continued silence from the UKs Quarantine Moguls, specifically with regard to trade quotas of Blu-Tack and the Royalty Range of merchandise.


indeed, there is a continued silence on all issues from the UK and the BRIC Corp, collective manufacturers of the Royalty Range, are keen for a robodrone HALO recon mission as soon as international disagreement can be circumvented.


now the hair-weather with Danbury Fillingboat . . .  

  



Image result for weather forecast the day today images
from pinterest

Monday, 21 August 2017

GUEST POST, MARION MICHELL 5 TEXTLINGS


Front cover of Supinely Sublimely

SUPINELY SUBLIMELY 
A BOOKLING BY MARION MICHELL
http://palewellpress.co.uk/Palewell-Publications.html#Supine-Sublime





TEXTLING #86
Image result for MIKADO STICKS
pic from amazon.co.uk

Had a run-in with time and lay in the car, stiff as a bell’s tongue, and just as mute. Pain in aspiration stage – still hoping I’ll hurl myself against walls, eager to chime.
After a blurry episode give looking another go. Burgess Park is not itself right now: tiny, lifeless, the green of grass and foliage moulded in the same garish tones. Clouds, birds, a plastic sun, tacked on a smudge of blue. We too minuscule and stuck mid-move in a scale-model some architect should have improved.
Bed, at long last. Limbs scattered like mikado sticks; palms so painful they seem large as cities. Must have crashed across the continent, one hand throbbing in Rejkavik, the other limp in the Aegean Sea. Each crumple in my sheet a mountain ridge or carved out canyon, nuzzling the gash of me. A chore to breathe.
Days shivering in sleety weather zones. I pine for hot. PEMalaise me not!



TEXTLING #84
Image result for soul leaving body in b&w old movie
by duane michals from pinterest

That moment in an old film when a double (diluted by light) departs the body of a character who just died and drifts out of view. As often as mind has room I fume a failproof lookalike who strolls about town. Oh, the places she has seen! Priceless when fancy factualises for a wisp of time. A caper on my scooter – first in a year, or two. Almost called out – look at me! – like a child riding her bike without stabilisers on. Hung a while on armchair at the bookshop twenty doors from mine, tried a little conversation. Turns out a semblance of normality is quite a strain.
In a matter of minutes home and supine again. Slept in clothes that night, entwined with spectre. Days later the idea of a repeat seems preposterous, but: elsedom was achieved, momentarily. Blue plaque please?



TEXTLING #63
Related image
by element flowers manchester

My elderly mom, out grocery shopping, is mugged not far from home. In bright light she is thrown to the ground and robbed of purse, vitality, and wobbly confidence. I, useless as a bowling pin, do not rush to her side, not by road, river, runway, sky. Tremulous voices steer a course, measured mouthfuls, the telephone astride my chest like a luckless charm. In time she rights herself, retraces daily routes to shops, dad’s grave, fast walks through empty fields, with fierce intent.
A friend of mine, severely ill, whose spirit rises every morning while she can but lie, does not share her mother’s dying hours, nor attend the funeral. Her grief, of which she cannot speak, her devastation, remain unbounded by communal rituals. Processing is inner, remembrance alone.
Not being there when we need to be, want to be, is felt, by us, no matter what the circumstances, as failed fidelity, incurring a debt of love.



TEXTLING #49
Image result for empty speech bubble
from dreamstime.com

A friend rings just as day breaks, greatly distressed. Where are the sails to set, the rams to slay, the crones to cast a soothing spell? The telephone sports a rodent’s tail. You have nothing to share but a two-step on ear-clock, and a piddling drip-feed of sympathy. Your heart jumps up the nearest tree. Leaves you a paper effigy.



TEXTLING #47
Image result for spilt coffee
from mmn.com

Not even 6 am and you’ve done a day’s spilling: first a glass of water on the rug, then a steaming mug of coffee over the bedstead. Your early bird vitality vouchers must have expired. You think the pint-sized delta in search of an ocean pretty (until it’s sunken), later picture an array of perfectly curved mirror panes with rounded edges (dimensions variable), laid out on a gallery floor; and, suspended from the ceiling, a circling flock of files and folders, wings wide, bulging with letters from the DWP. The splotches of Machu Picchu Ground on pillows, sheet, duvet, fail to fire up the muse once more. Brown! Mattress! Soaked! Depending how tired you are you start remedial action right away or try a snooze while stains seep. You like their smell. In the evening you snort your sleeve. 




trepidelationMMblog
Trepidelation
from
SUPINESUBLIME 
MARION MICHELLS WORDPRESS BLOGLING
https://supinesublime.wordpress.com/




My House of Howls
from
MARION MICHELLS ARTLINGS & SELECTED WORK
http://www.marionmichell.com/page14.htm


Saturday, 19 August 2017

HANDS THAT DO DISHES


hans that do dishes


are as soft as gervais


with mild green 


hairy lip squid


http://www.painterspitstop.com/threads/an-old-joke-i-was-so-pleased-to-see-again.887/