Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The Commons 2 // 13 - 14

for Paul

I have been studying the process
whereby you become a law
its circuits its its interruptions
I swallowed it 17 times
with burning sugar / it was boring
dancing like a murdered cop
his change in circumstances
countercrackling, hobbled
I swallowed him 17 times
asked for an explanation
a system of ancient flinching
understood chemanically
you will have to pay it back
from the future, crack’d

“move along, ‘fun people’,
nothing to see here”
you will have shimmering
a language of the barricades
yeh, I know, sorry
we are all in that death,
that decade, understood,
running thru its prescriptions
its ancient answers, you
my enemy, doing ‘something’,
the police, doing ‘the alphabet’
its secret monarchy, its meaning
its nice dog functions,
its corporate poetry sucks.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Paul Sutton

Watch this space for news of a benefit gig for the very great Paul Sutton, who is currently, & unjustly, banged up in Belmarsh Prison. We're gonna get as many poets and musicians as we can, to try and raise a bit of cash for him, upon his return to the world.

In the meantime, if anyone wants to write to him, get in touch with me and I'll give you the details.

I'm doing a reading tomorrow nite at the Klinker (london's premier anarcho-bohemian cabaret spot) / Maggies Bar, Stoke Newington Church St, from around 9. Be nice to see a few of you there, we can discuss strategy.

Friday, December 12, 2008

The Commons 2 // 12

for Paul Sutton, Belmarsh Prison, no. WN9616

they should hand out guns
on the dole / we don’t know
who ‘they’ are, I have asked
the police, the landlord, but
I cannot leave, who I am
the taxpayer, the violence
of what is called a bully
so I shot them, ‘they’, the
taxpayer, the landlord / I am
a child & it is a statement, of
sorts, in the language of
that death. & I cannot leave:
the police emptied the content
that white / trembling / meat

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

The "Commons" 2 // 10 - 11

meanwhile, back in ‘british poetry’
dutiful saline monarchy / like
voice it, here’s a burnt person
ringing, puking out its decades
its phenytoin pit / sorry but
its not my fucking landscape
my sweet non-cognitive pal, yeh
beautiful / o functions, careering
most things / cars, heads / o ‘you’,
- cough -
finance recommends / speaking pills,
someone’s city in pretty flames
- cough -
‘birds’ / ‘nice sanction’ / ‘nice decade’

& then there's the side effects -
for starters the skin spreads,
sidesteps the brain dutifully
bends to its own symbolic self
redistributed / knotted / closing
its vision canal, entryway to
doctor or cop or whatever
the prescription parses you
diagonally, & you feel it
as barricades / internalised
masked up / sloganised
a lawful voice on distort gap
in the housing alphabet, a
public service / description

Sunday, December 07, 2008

The Commons set 2 / 8-9

the report recommends
rhythmic decades / brightly
scattered in rooms, functions
displaced between ‘cities’
secret heads / where
the law goes squealing
its penalties & sanctions
its negative hells
redistribution of people
doing ‘something’, inside
‘birds’ / audible insertion
of dole pill, ‘privately’,
a roaring in my speaking
later, Mr Brown said

think of a sound / stretch it
extract the ‘I’, extract virtually
everyone / ‘you’, my enemy
phenytoin sodium
controls all warped reels
gaps in the royal alphabet
like ‘fun people’ / their gravity
is perfect, no distortion:
a voice / slipped through mine, a
tone control, silent & fearsome
extracts each decade, at
playback, requires no adjustment,
a voice / forks into mine, ahem,
clearly heard / coarse & distorted

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

more "Commons"

here is a landscape
here is ‘all hell’,
the distance between each line
some kind of ‘celestial ssnarl’
redistributes the city
a strange and bitter crop
furnace / numbers / christians
yeh / yeh / yeh:
you reach a fork in the voice,
the gaps between the lines
widen / like a mountain range
or those secret rooms
where the law goes to scream
have your say, o burnt decibel

every morning I take a pill
stops electricity, stops
most things / so imagine
you’re pleasant in the mall
some shuffling guy bites you
& its music everywhere
communism, dole scroungers
but we go there for money
everything is shimmering
the gaps in your voice
smoke of the bottomless pit
idiots on sulphur
o bollocks
there goes Thatcher again

Monday, December 01, 2008

The Commons set 2 / 1-5

secret history number
don’t / step / on
here is your alphabet
elizabeth windsor
housing benefit ref
cough up & shut up:
here is a room to
here is a serum flight
mouth erased now,
you live in rigged integers
burnt gust globes
you live in fun people
negative numbers

now you go ape
sorry but I feel spit:
now redistribute decades
each insomniac decade
step on fun people
each bursts like a dog
nice dog / nice spark
this is your head on TV
this is the dole, revolving
bright magnetic birds
sweep and soar
this is my frequency
a thin metal screech

& thats not all:
cough up the alphabet
to one side of, um, axis
the decibel, yeh
burnt number, crackled
just as voices
from ‘near silence’ to
like, ‘all hell’, where you
don’t / ‘people person’
bright magnetic secret
inside speech, from silence
outsourced decades
incorporated what is known
&, as they say, numb

rim / fun / people
value notwithstanding
as least I know I’m a moron
isolated, episodic.
certainly, this is ridiculous
try running it backwards
cancel the landscape
the imagination of racists
insert symbol
rhythmic displacement
christians, beaurocrats
keep taking the pills
benefit thief

this is me revolving
certainly, this is spit
like ‘all hell’ where birds
prowling dogs
sorry / negative decades
live in it like a racist
this is my silence
big constitutional principle
bright magnetic decibel
nice gravity, nice racist
- yeh -
have your say David Cameron
music / movies / games
finance / cars / answers