THE BUDDHA BAR WITH BUDDHAS

HATCHBACKS THIRD ANNIVERSARY GUEST BLOG, PHILL WILSON PERKIN

 


Terry's a Happy Dogger

by 

Phill Wilson Perkin

edited 
by
Lisa Cradduck 

Terry's a happy dogger. 

Terry's got tonsillitis.

He ain't happy.

The two big ladies are trying to 
give him a tugjob in the cold.

But it's too cold.

Nobody else turned up.

It was just Terry and the two 
lasses.

Well that was thoroughly gloomy.

 

from doggingnews.co.uk

DEATH IS THERE LIKE A FLAT TYRE IS THERE (BUCKOWSKI)

when our dark troll-brain
is
up
for
air
breathing gas on the limping world 

we'll say - NOTHING has any point 

NOTHING

at

all


but 
thats half-a-thought - if our cold skull meant it
we'd die off a high river bridge
before 
they hung the suicide nets up

so we tolerate our chilled distaste
and
tan our pale sick selves
in
others 
unfathomable
light - not worrying ! NOT WORRYING at all
at 
the faceless faces 
of
chain 
stores / hotels / coffee bars looping the globe
unrolled from imported bales
like 
Chism's 
sharp
wire
and tho the rich throw us balls and guns and easy brown targets
to
make 
us 
feel 
fighting righteous in the ad breaks - dont worry
DONT WORRY
at
all

no - we create rituals
to
blow smoke on

in 
the warm silent nights
and
we play in the day
under swinging washing
and 
the yellow ball of sun 
wondering and waiting
for
the
death - an anticlimax for sure
like
a
third movie sequel
with
an unknown cast
in
miserable inappropriate black

from abc7news.com

NOT ALL CLEANERS BUT . . .

cromagnon
faced
dim
breed
women
crawl from chip oil kitchens
deep
in
their
council brick long-hives
toothy
and
chinless
and
small as children
or
swollen as water balloons
to
moan a dawn chorus 
of powerless witches
all
self-centred half-thought drivel
and
imagined 
personal
slights

and too theres war-old men
endlessly justifying
their
lack
of 
personal wealth
and
belching tales of the half-decent motors 
they drove thru a sepia youth
or
young and feral and bad haired
phone-glued urban yokels
sons
of
stumbling painted
supervisor mothers
coughing
excuses
into
portable
phones
loud and dull
like
delay-announcements
of
helpless misery

all of them
all too willing
to
bark 
ALL their problems out for you / at you !
if
you
make eye contact
or
mumble MORNING
or
move away 
too 
slow

from crywalt.com

HIGH ENERGY

you ! you got bright eyes
full
with
the
burnt electric of stars and suns

you !
you bounce like a child 
like its all NEW everyday
you 
got 
the 
energy of five of us ! - wild conversational tangents
from 
an
endless mouth
fill 
all 
the
cracks
in
time

you ! share your energy !

i
drown 
in 
ennui 
putting the kettle on
and
wiping
my 
arse
again and again - wallowing in a countdown
to
some
tiny
hit
of
peace

GERMAN CINEMA - A DREAM

i leave the screening.  
fat guy wears a big tache / huge backpack strapped to his back / lays on the floor in the way.  
his coat is a thick parka / spread across the popcorn carpet.  
i kick it out the way / i'm angry.  
my foot is caught in the lining / i get crosser.  
kick it back at him / clumsy / dont like being clumsy.  
get crosser.
YOU'LL HAVE TO APOLOGISDE TO MY MUM FOR THAT for that he says / looks up at me with disinterested eyes.  
NO i say I'LL APOLOGISE TO YOU, FOR YOU BEING A DICK !

from crunchwear.com

i leave him.  
i walk into the next screening.  
i have a flask and a torch shaped like a big worn bolt / dried and old furniture glue clogs the thread.  
i have something else too / its important / nebulus and lost.  

from andywebber.com

i take a seat / fat tache man lays down at the back / face to the floor. 
i keep a wary eye on him.  
i pour a cup of whatever into the flash cup and deliver it to someone near the front / they are thirsty.  
i come back and cant find my flask.  
i search with my bolt torch / flask gone / i suspect fat tache guy with backpack.  

from uttings.co.uk

everyone is on smart phones.  
it seems you can choose the film / some sort of vote.  
i stay uninvolved and the feature starts . . .  

then the screen is taken over !
confusion ensues.  
some re-edited banned propaganda from Germany comes on.  
i laugh cos it has silly cartoon figures drawn on the frames / women in bikinis / dancing.  
a bald guy gets angry / gets in my face / says DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOURE LAUGHING AT HERE ? HOW OFFENSIVE IT IS TO LAUGH ? 
i say NO, CARTOON TICKLED ME IS ALL.  YOU DICK.

from emptyness.org

everyone is hushed / there is a threat / a bomb or gas threat.  
the film is screened by a terrorist. 
we are hostages in a hijacked screening room.  

someone from the audience appears on the screen over the cartoon frames.  
we realise there is a camera here / the bomb or the gas is here. we find the woman on the screen in her seat shocked and track back for the camera.  
i go straight to THE fat tache man with the huge bag.  
he is gone / his bag remains.  

we search on.  
i use my bolt torch / the cartoon propaganda continues.  
we see it ! its a plastic santa on a skateboard.  
got a camera in his hat / gas cylinders on his back - start to hiss !

from startrinbune.com

panic.  

i run for the exit doors / double doors / not locked / assumed they would be.
i push them open / more double doors right there / push them too.
more doors.  
more doors.  
all different.
all double doors.  
more doors.
so close they open on to each other and i think it all will jam up.
it doesnt.
i keep going / at the head of the rush / maybe fifty sets of doors ?  

from immasmartypants.blogspot

we get thru into a corridor like a hospital.  
we walk warily thru and out into a car park.  
a German armoured car sit there and a guy in armour approaches with a flame thrower.  

he burns some people / turns to me / i sit down / calm / look up the sky.  
the clouds / lovely clouds.  
i close my eyes.  

from warwheels.net

he doesnt burn me / WELL DONE FELLA he says YOU MAY LIVE.  
i congratulate him on setting up so many double doors all in a row like that.  
SHOWS DEDICATION AND PLANNING i say.  
his armoured mask looks like K9.

from tardis.wikia.com

he walks away.  

HATCHBACKS THIRD ANNIVERSARY GUEST BLOG - ADELE MORRIS

- SUNDAY WORSHIP AT ALDI -

BY ADELE MORRIS

FROM NEWKIRKSTALL.ORG

We are gathered here today . . .

Humongous people

Hungry humans

Starving families

Shuffling up the biscuit aisle

Blocking up the bread aisle

Mountainous quantities

Deepest trolleys

Two per family

Conveyor belts trouser belts

Straining 

Ankles bigger than feet

Shoes undone

Shuffling sweating

Sugar levels dropping

Energy drinks for the journey home

Sixteen bags bulging

In the 4x4 . . .

I'll shop Monday.

FROM CPSPROMOTIONS

POETS ! 2

poets !

do you mow that lawn ?
or
lay on it
and 
wallow weakly in its 
tiny
forests
wondering
if
you
can face the metallic smell and cobwebs
of
the
dark
inhabited
shed 
where the mower - LEVIATHAN - waits dusty and heavy ?

do you
just lay abandoned in its tall wands
and
fuzzball meadows
watching
its
citizens
pace and parade
and
try to forget
the
angry row the mower would yell ?

if it would start anyway . . .

and wheres the grass catcher ?

and the petrol can ?

and
who
are
you
anyway
to cull this lush microcosm 
this
thick
gifted
apron - natures deep pile home ?

dont worry about it -
it
will
get
mowed
another day
when
your
head
is squarer
and
the
chaos
needs a fight

POETS ! 1

poets !
write like youd talk
like
how
youd
explain
whatever
to
someone

maybe clean it up
like
for
a
child
or
a
parent
or
dumb it down for dockers

we're talking inclusion 

keep it real - corner shop real / aldi real
bad job / good job
divorce and love real
but
loose some LIKES and some WHATEVERS
and
slang is AOK
if
you dont depend on it 
for cheap effect

dont fake it is what i'm saying -
keep
the jargon on the 
downlow
use words you 
already know - we're not salesmen or lawyers !
this
is
NO CON !

throw flowers on the bones of course
if they are good bones
but
dont stuff the skull 
with 
bouquets

and
dont
forget
this should be the common ground
of
understandable
usable
truisms
for
sick kings and hardy paupers alike

from htmlgiant.com

THE KIPPLE KONTROVERSY 2

man

thin

smoker

clothes uninspired

arrives across the street
4 pm or 5 pm 

or midnight

stops his old estate car outside his ma's bungalow
handbrake a witches shriek
kipple squashed tight up against dirty car windows
like drunks packed
into Tokyo trains
in the fifth rush hour of the day

office chairs

bicycles

bin liners of old clothes and old toys

he plunders pockets
he explores creases

he segregates
like 
some 
awful 
cold burglary 
like 
soft eugenics

choice pickings disappear behind bungalow doors
most is packed into more bin liners
and piled
five
high
by the bonnet of the broken-down Transit
wedged in the depths of the drive

he 
does 
this 
everyday
4 pm or 5 pm

or 
midnight

kipple coming home
i think

kipple
coming
home

from ilovethediff.com

THE KIPPLE KONTROVERSY 1

it hurts my mind

all the stuff 
the kipple
the this and that
the doohickeys
the gumpf
the plastic
THAT lasts FORVEVER
that we touch
use
discard
love and lose
where does it live now ?  
claustrophobic in a landfill ?
or
a shore
or
tiny hinterland block
on
the
Pacific's garbage island ?
i see it all
in a whirlpool
in my back brain
i own knowledge of the textures 
of the gone delights
and
i dont remember abandoning
any
of
it
at
all

i miss it
i didnt need it
transient kipple
hurts my mind

from haveawhaleofatime.blogspot

SOMETIME MUSE

HATCHBACKS THIRD ANNIVERSARY GUEST BLOG - A BUX JUST-BUX TRIPTYCH

By Bux Just-Bux - 

1. Soliloquy

I never did

adjust

to being

just

a

friend

having to employ new

techniques

just to connect

like ducking and weaving

the salacious topics

that flowed freely between us

before

trapping fully formed

sentences

behind pursed lips

and swallowing back

the bitter taste of sharp words

in one go

I don't recognise

your new version of me

the one unable to win you over

with a curved hip

or this soliloquy

PICTURE FROM WWW.AFRICAPUBLIC.COM 'HOMAGE TO MY HIPS' BY LUCILLE CLIFTON 

2. Target Audience 

I should have just told you how I felt
spelled it out
in plain text
instead of
encrypting desire
in
subliminal poetic prose
close to the bone
but miles off the mark

PICTURE FROM ITTVAGYUNK.BLOG.HU

3. Party Line 

I miss the days of beer mat dating
autographing your number freely
on compressed cardboard
in rancid little pubs
flipping it to one of the weekend lads
anxious to hook up
with a girl in stiletto heels
coasting carpets
matted with mixers

You'd wait for him to get in touch
from a change fed phone box
preferably the next day
the next week
(or the next time he was wasted)
to ask if you remembered him
as he traced smiley faces
on condensation choked windows
handset trapped
between jaw and shoulder
with phone cord spring loaded
round his wedding ring finger

But the only thing that rang
was the echo of rejection
the tin can connection
of Cantor's theorem
calling collect

SHOE CORCKSCREW FROM CAFEPRESS.COM

GEORG CANTOR FROM NEW.MATH.UIUC.EDU

by Bux Just-Bux;

http://addictiveburn.blogspot.no/

TWO SUNS

oh !
     to be on a two-sun class M planet 

stretched 
out 
on
an 
alien patio - an off-world first arrival

basking
in 
the 
beginnings 

     of 

     New Optimism . . .

     leaving 
          sick England fermenting
     in
     its
     war 
          surplus 
               tin

one 
sun 
     clings 
     to 
          unspoiled horizon
like melting 
          bubble 
               gum

the
other
flares 
          like its smudged - like its on another plane

          darker 
               and 
                    locked in glass

it
would
make a change from pissing
          on
          my
          own turds 
               everyday
while 
a 
          parliament 
          of 
          millionaires 

     take
     all
     the
poors perks away
     and
     tells
     them
its fair and caring

from articulate.com

A STACK OF GOOD BOOKS

a stack of good books
is
a
Living Tower !
is
the
children of minds 
folded
neatly
into
clear reports
from
a 
hot burst world

a stack of good books 
are
competent 
ticks 
on 
a
melting-pot 
check-list

hide in here they say
when 
the 
world
is
wanting 
hide FROM the world IN the world

what else delivers SO MUCH
and
even
with
a
broken
spine ?

from paperlanternlit.tumblr.com

FLYBOYS ARENT COMING

the
flowers 
dont
know
the
flyboys arent coming around no more
and
their
adolescent bruises
wave 
AVAILABLE anyway
like 
girl-women
painted with rainbows
crossing 
white socks
on
country-fare hay bales
but
its
cold tweezers in vinyl gloves 
that
pull 
at 
them
without love 
instead

the 
flowers 
dry into brown wicker widows 
put
out
on the back step
wearing
just
the impotent tickle
of black spiders
laying
out 
their 
lairs
as
food crops
in acid clay
cry fruitless 
over 
fertility clinic letters
under
the
yellow
star

from quora.com