POOR MR UGLY CHAIR

dinosaurs
extinction event

t i m e

oil
lovecrafts artic civilisation 
extraction
industrial revolution
by-product resin
dye & design
factory injection mould
trade agreement
pricing spreadsheet
packaging 
advertising

  l
  o
  n
  g

    journey
      in
        a
          container

          on
          a
          container 
          ship

          then a shop

and now it sits on my lawn

ugly chair

i use it some

but really - i
             cant
             even
             burn
             the
             ugly thing

  from www.dailymail.co.uk

PROOF OF LIFE, A QUINTOPOP

tv
is
a murmur in the background

a wallpaper whitenoise 

ratsnot dribble

and these dumb days
its
proof of Life

~

i am not tuned into the right frequencies

  ( dials jammed on 1979 )

for its hamfist subliminal shopping prompts

and
i
dont
need
a new sofa or copycat hatchback
every
weekend

anyway

do i ?

~

anyway

as long as i can just lay here

just lay

stretched and still

floating
in
my
own
still water

for an indefinite while

its all pretty much ok with me

~

proof of World / Life
is
a muffintop of information

corporate drool
in
a
coffee bucket

wait -
information ?  more like
               windows left open
               on a 21stC
               bedlam

or a future museum exhibit
demonstrating and lamenting
our
moneymind
whitegood
techturd
gurning
faux-need

~

so 
i
lay

i stretch out

tv on -
just a shitty kind of weather

stretched out
listening to the water pipes cough
and the hooves
of tiny horses
running in there

stretched out
listening to her in the kitchen
making a pie
singing a song
swearing at bugs

stretched out
in
a
freezeframe pm picture
of
sofa bliss with a knee rug
and 
my
sicknote peace

GOODBYE ?

TESCO APOCALYPSE

from imgur.com

http://www.podniesinski.pl/portal/fukushima

LIFE IS

PLANTS

DESK

ACID TODAY

from cathyfox.wordpress.com

SHIT BRICK HOUSES

from cruiselinerhistory.com 1929 ms kungsholm

PORN BEFORE WEB

EX-RENTAL THEY LIVE

MR Vs

MORE GARDEN & SKY ( ONE DAY I WILL GO OUT . . . )

OUTSIDE & INSIDE

outside
workmen bang their tools
sing radio pop
whistle

shout - cup a tea round ere mate

they got energy all day long

the rubbish trucks groan and whine
creep round the slalom
of
parked 
hatchbacks

they
bang the bins about
with
hollow plastic thumps

inside
i take notes from the cat
asleep next to me
on
how
to
relax
in
indifferent
and
ignorant
splendour

from ebay.com

SELF PORTRAIT 2

SMALL WORLD

one neighbour
has exotic palm trees
impeccably tended

another
grows award winning sun flowers
ten
feet
tall

at number 6
lives
a
mathematical genius

and on the phone
i got Ronnie Barkers
old
assistant
surgeon

sometimes
staying in by the window
is
enough
world
for
me

from www.porridge.org.uk

RAIN AND A COFFEE CAVE ( A SIX-PACK )

rain
theres rain today
raining at last

it
hasnt
rained
for 
   so 
     long

now the precinct pavement
shines
like
dull
steel - we are all in there
        walking upside down

and
the
air
tastes
of
steam
and 
the gutter

~

the costa is a glass cave
voices are brittle
echoes sharp as razors

its like a zoo in here
a coffee bean hogarth

i
queue

then slot myself down
in
the
brown
bucket
herd

~

a girl is writing on a pad
under
the
heading '30 questions about . . .'

i cant read the last word
her handwriting is all loops

she nearly has 30 anyway looks like

and
my curiosity 
lacks
legs

~

a 
man 
might be interviewed
      or maybe appraised

50 odd in cycle clothes
sheepish like a schoolboy

his bucket long drunk

woman in a suit sits opposite 
hawkish / clipboard / a pen 

parole officer ?

this is fucktown central
after all

~

enormous
regulars
on
motor
wheels
flirt 
loudly
with
the
young
staff

their beards
setsquare correct

look like iron filings
          or 
          drawn on

their bodies small / almost shrunk
like
a
headhunters
doll

~

the original town called lynch
is
everywhere . . . i
               think
             and
           wonder
         and
       guess
whos home and hard drive
hoards
the
hoariest
niche
secrets
they feel a mad calling for

like
i
do
for english rain

from flckr by raana m

LONG PRESCRIPTION DAYS

when i run aground
i
play
the
songs
that make me feel / make me almost cry

 ( theyre LIFE photo'd in plastic )

remembering when i struggled
and 
they were beacons / revelations

  and
  Armour

we would play them
on portable tape players
on street corners
like
out-of-time urchins
lost without a revolution
  
 ( waiting
   for
   SOMETHING
   to
   happen )

we would play them
in hatchbacks 
parked up on the forest fire paths
where 
the 
sky would pretend
it 
had
secrets locked down in dense emptiness

we would talk about them
round the pub jukebox -
the 
lost art of mic'ing up a drum kit
that 
special scream of a frisco fender

and CLAIM them as OURS

 ( and if anyone else played them
   or they turn up on radio 2
   then
   its
   not
   right - what do THEY know ? )

and
i
dont
ask
any questions of them any more

they ARE what they are / what they NEED to be
in
the 
long twitch 
of these 
prescription days

~

  and
  then

  i
  play

  them
  again

  sat back
  smoking
  and
  still / always / forever

  enthralled

  their importance IMPOSSIBLE
  to
  overstate

YESTERDAY RATED AND REVIEWED

he said
retrospective
is
the
past
in
a
blister-pack 

i said yep -
diary becomes text book
a clearly labelled map
a useless luxury even 

its
so
we
know
what
went
on
he said 
cos at the time
its
anyones
guess

like this - he went on - we just talking some shit here 

i know i said
but
now
its
a
poem

from arthistoryteachingresouces.org

SKIES

SOIL OF THE WORLD

i can feel it
under my boots
up my calves 

like scaffolding 

feel being perched
like a storybook owl
                 on
                 the
                 deep
                 eternal
                 soil
anchored like a bouy
on the soft rock of the world

i can feel its noise 
           its dry breath
           and
           maybe
           i
           feel
           kind 
           of
           sad
     for not being a beautiful bird
                or a manticore treecat
                or a dragon fly
                     forever 
                     sat
                     on 
                     the 
                     rosebush pole
  and
  being
  just
  a
  me 

perched on the soil of the world

  feeling it
  clear 
  as
  hunger or pain

  feeling
  the rich urban peat
  the poor salted earth 
  out
    in 
      the 
        kfc sticks

up to my chin in excess packaging
and
the
silent
countdown

from forcechange.com

SELF PORTRAIT

RESIDUE

dreams lay an edge
on
us
waking

  a 
  phantom 
  who
  fades
in the face of day things 

but
is
still
there
for
breakfast

ghosts before breakfast

from

www.designcatwalk.com

A REAL FLYING HELICOPTER

he was young
a kid
a bored kid
  out 
  looking 
  for 
  Something / Anything

on the hatchback streets

( corsairs
  cortinas
  white dogshit
  sex pistols graffiti
  in the rape-trap subway )

~

he was young
a kid
no friends to speak of
riding his bike alone
  
  his
  mind
  an 
  Anxious Accelerator
  full 
  of 
  Vicarious Adventures

from books he read
from tv he seen
where
other kids would go out on their bikes
and explore caves
and climb walls
  and 
  find
  Something / Anything
  
but its not like that
in his fucktown for him

~

he was young
a kid
and one day
by the high street
near the pool

( when the pool
  was just a pool
  marathons tizer fruit juice
  in the snack machine
  with a 2p slot )

  he
  sees
  a
  helicopter !

coming in low
coming in to land

a real flying helicopter 

~

he was young
a kid
and
its exciting
its smugglers ?

he follows it
heart in his mouth
ALIVE on a bike

and it goes down behind a wall
and he climbs up the wall

( a wall to climb
  like he read
  like he watched
  a wall to climb
  in a street of concrete 
  assisted-living chalets
  metal bins behind wooden doors )

he sees it landed on a field
hes never seen such a thing before
he thinks hes discovered 
  
  Something . . .
  
  Mystery / Adventure / Smugglers ?

out on his bike
like the books he read
like the tv he seen

~

he was young
a kid
but weirdly older inside
all of a strange sudden

  because

  theres kids from his school there
  they already knew it would be there
  they were ready and waiting there 

  to fly in the sky

and hes just a kid on a wall now

( granadas 
  carltons
  skin heads / safety-pins / scooter mods
  on
  the 
  half-day closing
  milk-float streets )
  
learning
how
things
work

just a kid on a wall

half-day closing
portishead 1997