Happy New Year

Its 2010. The world has not yet collapsed under the weight of man's stupidity. I think it will be saving that until at least February. I have many invoices to send. Well, 2. And I stall probably distractg myself slightly, by using PuppyBurger again (unless I change the URL to something new for this new start).

Happy new year.

The only lesson leaned from school days was of hate, blame, and grudges. The fantasy of escape supports this, as the notion of best days of life takes second place to the countdown to the end, of the days and the contact with others. In the early afternoon minds wonder from recycled teaching plans, and head towards the gates, the busses home, and the fist in the face of that week's hated favourite.

Of course, this is the best preparation possible for the office. Vacuous games continue with the politics of well dressed backstabbing and self importance.

Chaos thory

If I had a mind
like yours
I'd keep it at home
in a box
locked
away from the prying eyes of
the others
after all
its far too precious
to get broken

Dualistic requirements of the voice

He sits
in his head, a thought
trapped
that if escaped brings
unintended consequence

They sit
listening
perhaps it will go
a possibility
in existence

Heard from the next room

Very nice.

The voice of the help from outside. Not directed at or against him
the voice was engaged in
private chat
of the sort that was possible when you had no concern of your world

He had no concern either
had barriers, though
but that was the norm.

Still, it was Tuesday so perhaps
They's let him play a record
or make a record
the longest fucking time in the place without going off track
but even if it was possible
he didn't think that they'd believe it

Sometime or whenever

Please ring his mobile
requested again
and then some
on voice and e
mails throughout the day

and she
looks away

nervous as to the call
the cause known
in mind at least

On the misanthropic society, and my refusal to reply to the invitation

People create societies because they want to belong. There's strength, see, in numbers and a shared opinion that saves you from thinking for yourself.

A contact of mine, who fancies himself as a bit of a wag, created the misanthropic society. And he asked me to join.

Such an invitation created a distopia of feelings. Whilst its nice to be asked to join a group, no matter how facile the subject matter might be (or, in this case, perhaps how anti-facile since it involves avoiding the majority of the gene pool in acknowledgement of their inadequacies), extending such an openness would be missing the point. And from the very people who are supposed to embrace misanthropia.

I clearly cannot join a misanthropic society that has any members. Membership is contact, human contact, and an acceptance of value. I cannot be part of this.

and then we looked over
he called
you and the group left
to a cafe void
trapped on a trip
for the journey home

Guidelines to your success

They say that ambition is good, and that you should
work hard now
so that later,
you can work harder
at a bigger desk
and
for more money

They say that
this
is chasing the dream
and that you should
live it now
before
its too late

They judge on
money, and
class, first,
appearances
and
inherited meaning

Barnsley driver

Barnsley driver, originally uploaded by Alex Veitch.

In Barnsley, dogs don't walk.

18.12.02 (amended)

At the end of another day, in th equiet off the alleyways, the side streets, and in the ginnels - and in the most lonesome and empty rooms of the houses - the universe unwinds. The noise is like the all the conversations you've ever heard, all the sounds of the day, slowly being reversed, out and in again, the sound of a giant's great slumber. You mustn't wake the giant, for he needs his rest
Some forget this. And when it happens, the giant deals with interruptions - say, the child who wonders about his parents' house after they have gone to sleep - with quiet efficiency.

Untitled

Her voice carried a laugh
wrapped in a smile
she'd won the lottery
wouldn't be back
for a while

7.6.02

Thoughts that need a home

go hunting, then
to search out
in
and thereabouts
for whatever
and however
the point being yours

hide, then
from certain truth
or dare
to dream about, or
live
in times
places
yours alone
again

A poem about Cartesian duality and the beauty of an expansive soul that sees more of the world as it grows, and not, as some claim, about selfishness.

Your soul is like
the force
guiding a balloon

floating higher to view
life's tapestries
and rising
for greater gain

After Simon Rae

I
it
wit
twit

After the airport

If you were to
put me
in a white room
with a white door
and floor

nothing to do
see
touch or
say

Somehow
I would still
fuck
everything up

No translation

Bags full, I leave the cheque, and
out to the park

cars filling each space
egos filling empty cars

But there's no wait
on a cycle, and so I'm off

having stuffed the panniers
full of good things, and beer

to carry out
and carry on.

Luncheon

I spent yesterday lunchtime sat on a corpse, eating a period preserved in vinegar.

Its surprising that, in the time I've worked around the corner from the University-owned churchyard in the city of [this place], I'd not before used it as somewhere to sit. Students and staff alike were out in force, and the inhabitants had plenty of company for once. My only slight disapointment was the lack of certainty that the sandwich - purchased because the rather fine Japanese food stall had been towed away - contained free range egg mayo.

Wake.

My tail is
wagging and I
can smell something
good
which maybe
is my own arse

Noises from off, and I bark
and wag
and bark
whilst she or he breaks sleep

My favourite time of the day

I scratch at the door but no-one answers
so I circle and then sit, and
lie
and start to think about my life

My favourite contemplation

Till eventually - and ever so
exciting - they come in and
see me and i jump and they pat me
and then he leaves and she pours
liquid

and again

and then i jump again
because its my favourite part of the day
and she sits with me and
strokes my head and
tells me everything

And as it
goes on
today as before
I think that
maybe they don't have
a favourite in their day

3rd week of the holiday

21 days after the first meeting with the Colonel, I found myself astride his still warm corpse, the beaten heart ripped from his chest and held aloft as a cheer leader holds a pom pom. Those about me gave noises of appreciation, but the loss of this once great man made me sick to my stomach, a wretching worstened by the inevitablity of his decline.