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Showing posts from July, 2008

great news

My brother is awake. At first he couldn't speak and he put his hand on his heart and pointed to my mum.

now he is using words . . .

it looks like everything is going to be ok so far :-)

he is a fighter alright!!!!

brother in a coma

my little brother Spencer was in a very bad car crash three days ago in utah. he is in a coma. brain swollen. collapsed lung. machines.

I can't really focus on anything else at the moment . . .

It has begun

It is really happening. or seems to. My first feed for over three years occurred last night in east london at the Foundery:

Sascha Akhtar
Sean Bonney
Frances Kruk
Scott Thurston
John Wilkinson

All great . . .. especially the performance of Sean Bonney and Frances Kruk. If you have not heard of the poetry of Sean Bonney and Frances Kruk then you are missing out. John Wilkinson was also amazing. And Sascha Akhtar takes the word soundings of Mr. James Joyce to a whole new level. And Scott Thurston and a nice performance of a man in a t-shirt who helps run the series.

There are lots of things happening in London with experimental/avant-garde poetics. I met a fine smattering of fine poets and the place was packed and the venue was perfect. Met a fine fellow poet named Rob Holloway. He told it is best for poets to live near old street/brick lane (east London) or South London. Across from the hip pub in east London there is a bookshop. And Rob Holloway told me they sell interesting experimenta…

what to do with a baby . . .

A lot of tube time. Over three hours. I've seen some of the same people but we are not supposed to look at each other.

When I blow my nose black shit, a bit like newspaper ink, comes out in chunks on the tissue.

West London is much better than living near Manor House. West Ealing has organic food so I can get back to dreaming of being middle class.

Ealing has third generation Polish.

I found a nice wee man in a plastic shack that sells pasta on Ealing Broadway. Only £3.

My mind is better. If better is the word. A bit better. Now I must make time. Or at least the potential for working into nothing through words.

So yes. Here we go. Another flat share on Sunday for one month. Then in September my fourth move in four months.

So yes. Here we go. A can of Lech. At least I can speak my language.

The man in the plastic food shack is happy to sell his pasta. He asked me if I wanted cheese or special sauces. And he has the sauces: peppers and creamy peppers and creamy white pepper sauces.

I wa…

NEW SUNDAY POEM (DON'T KNOW WHERE IT WILL GO)

Prodigal Drift

Lapid maze-fault: something calls my name, tomotoe
on the table I wish you could pick me up operatically
hot/cold with critical speculation. I’ve met gravity
at every turn and

in America

very basic lightning to take
a different direction in comparison
to the primness and residual
limits of Victorian England.

This is the ramshackle of a half-life, unraveling my social fabric, putative
doubles and slavish copies of continual obessessions. It includes
old and new media in tune with the medium rather than merely
doing a descriptive job. How often is a cat seen on a public beach?
Graphic work has sunk within me forever with the vitality
of indifference. Fight experience, exist stance, buffalo stance.
Existence is a sneeze, a seizure. The symbols they can
fill you, the symbols they can kill you. If there is nothing
worth regreting might as well pack it in.

EXPERIENCE IS EXPENSIVE!!

revision of the last saturday afternoon poem many moons ago

COFFEE HALL

sex drop
and damp dreams
in coffee hall
before a Mormon
baptism there
was silent chatter
and I was borderline
skit zo
while star wars
figures melted
on the light bulb

This is the scene, the seen, the redeveloped conditional, the hemoglobin of a healthy heartbeat.

Once upon, once the time was, the time

is a disappearing
point beneath
the pelvis
and I’m
painting
a portrait
with nothing
left
to lose.

In coffee hall I was pretend
smoking with twig in the spray
painted Council Park
and some girl named Candy
had the real one
and somewhere back
in Ireland my gills
turned to lungs
underneath the kitchen sink.

These scenetimes
are a flexible
rubber stuck in yr ear
the years slip and stumble
and we tread the treason
line, yr feeding me
lines and the reason
for time, time and the lie
is to crush and crumble
to keep the peeping
weightless
and these
scenes are a vector
of missed lips.

In north London
I’m engulfed
in scenes
& faithless to all countries, a bare
immigrant with scenetakes
on the nightspin.

I’m not…

feet

got a big room for the month of August. Half a foot on the ground. So my third move in London coming up in two weeks. Then in September I must move again because room is only for one month. So four flats in four months in London. Par for the course.

I am circles indeed!!!

Think I might take a huge risk and use all my savings for a celta (certificate for teaching english as a foreign language) and leave marketing and if i can't eat then emergency ticket back to america to start all over again. But I can't keep going with this marketing stuff.

yeah and someday someday i will write again. six weeks and no new work yet.

it will come back. just need two feet on the ground!!

here comes the boss damn dread that

ok punch in the time . . . feet will come soon