6 x 6 x 6

 

ocean subtract cross currents rip tide 

hungry wanting open heart remnant surgery

please be ghost Lenten proxy antidote

auto-da-fe shift response battle tech breathing

onyx frisson grave hover withhold gamete 

triangle orange fusion pelt fusty snowman

 

lumpen onion mandible extortion gripe siren

obvious extend to this we each arrive

chip shop hip op sweet belong

down on the coast horror vibes

rental beast untangled flavour of south

you know you know you know 

 

on the floor host acumen bereft

super fresh gilded gagged and googled

went by up there no good

refreshed lactose beast wisdom grave bespoke

muscle now sea amulet begrimed star

look it’s coming we belong here 

 

 

 

discreet orange fur overgrown hover shadow

but we must offshore held together muddle

crisp opaque Sauron adapt figure mist

bring because you can if so

levelled attempt mustard seed aroma

you’re sure aren’t you they asked

 

tangent to sleep assaulted techno twist

peppermint rhino goes global at last

she saw a way through it

chanting cult recumbent foraging for filth

occult wanderer no need to refresh

window prism vacuity collapsed sentinel

 

remember you’re a Womble he shouted

drugged beat over-ground station access

tower hamlets frisson express meal deal

if it won’t happen it won’t

happen together insane river ploughed black

humble pavements sword forest arrive now.

 

 

 

 

 

 Time to feel good about what we know. You planted seeds now watch them grow. 

This wasn’t meant to rhyme 

so discord comes in to break

the line; while Coltrane blows his heavy horn 

people clap on this Sunday morning

dark thoughts bloom rapid without warning

is it the future

or the past

we're mourning?

 DEREK BAILEY

"The way we live now is no good, corrupted by social media, sold out to the highest bidder, psychotically entrapped to a life time of subscriptions we have to maintain or else we are binned. Condemned to a life of false luxury we fiercely protect our entitlement to."     R-Totale

Listen to the topography of the lungs masked faces dancing in a room were words have lost their meaning so we just become person 1 person 2 and so on

You are enjoying ] your self {

Don’t think just listen

Scratched record modifies improvisation impose new structure through interplay don’t stop to contextualise temperate utilitarian orthodoxies flowering in early spring Hackney back garden evokes spirit of optimism given legs by lungs and fingers and the finding of…

Work is boring and it doesn’t pay

So you might as well keep playing 

So anyway time to clean the toilet again

Time to watch the sun break through the grey inhale of bleach smell reaches

A roaring crescendo in time for a late lunch with out to lunch

Each resonant moment lasts for ever in its own space and time 

every second its own eco system ultimately forming a billion rays of trillion year old star light reaching our eyes at once.

 

 THE MODERN INDIVIDUAL AS ANCIENT MONOLITH

Sometimes it will be just a title turning a thought into memories

that gets the heart moving. What comes next depends on the wind

blowing cobwebs hung from fragile branches.

One day it could be radio waves or something else emerging 

from darkness at the back of the shelf. 

Ran up five flights opposite an old remembered house.

Woke confused from a morning nap with 

a head like a washing machine, heart racing to figure

out, how can we be monoliths inside this culture?

What grace can we claim back from the vultures tearing at our flesh?

Up and open to ashes, we slip away into vague horizons

that require neat replicas of our full on-line persistence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

QUIET DOMESTIC LIFE IS 

Waiting for life to happen

is it

happening

not all music is special

sometimes a sound is a song

 

 WRITE WHEN IT’S HARD

When you’re most afraid

Of what it’s hard to know exactly

When the pain won’t go away write anyway

From the bottom of your anxious stomach

Acid aches heart breaks

Splits like atoms

Nuclear up through the body

But wait don’t go just yet

You still have breath in your lungs

Begin again every day

Write the pain away 

Form words of in and out breath

These are not worthless forms 

Real pain is mental anguish

You can’t move forwards

Or backwards

Or jump for joy

Everything gets clawed back to

Its lowest form

Write now keep going

Make a run for it

Don’t let the bastard’s

Claim it back

You’re not the dirt and suffering you see

Because it is not dirt and it is not suffering

That you see

But life in all its myriad wonder

That means joy and pain

Not just the broken lives ranting in the dark

But the tenderness of the afflicted

The humanity between strangers in peril

That bonds us 

As much as the hate that makes the news

To go out once more into the world

To carve another day from the weight of existence

In this moment

Which is supposed to be beautiful

Well it is 

It should be or will be

To borrow money from your children 

Feels like the ultimate dishonour

To pay them back with love and cooked meals

Perhaps does make it right

I should not have said what I said

I should not have done what I did.

 

 It was a good year.

It was a good year for music.

It was a good year for self-awareness.

It was a turning point for vitality. People helped. We helped people.

I lived and loved for others.

We made work.

Work made us. 

We laughed. A lot.

It was a good year working outside. It got hot.

We worked alongside a bee hive. Those bees got busy as it got warmer.

Nobody got stung in our world.

Good art is made out of salvation. If it gets harder we dig deeper. Because we have to.

There is no choice but to live. 

We give each other gifts every day.

There are other ways of doing things. There is always another way of looking at a situation.

Do not intoxicate yourself. You will only regret it.

Maybe you will find revelations but they are fleeting and will not last.

Real salvation comes from a place of sobriety.

But you can’t tell people what to do.

You can only find out for yourself.

The path is different for everyone. 

Real music is the sound of everyday life. If you can enjoy this then your made.

Any good music can take you out of yourself. It doesn’t matter what it is.

It’s about you as much as the sound.

Literature is something special.

It was a good year for reading and in turn learning.

Fiction is a search for truth.

The truth in fiction is what we learn about ourselves.

That is why our stories will never end.

Be humble and don’t make too much noise.

Even when they come for you.

Let them. What do they know?

Don’t fight just flow.

It’s over now.

There’s a gap in the bookshelf 

(where my heart used to be)

it opens upon a vast plain of hills 

long waving grasses

reflecting slivers of lunar glow

sun at midnight 

the way is now clear 

we never gave up 

always knowing 

it was out there 

all that time

waiting

for us to find the words to say

I am 

We are 

to be held 

to be heard

 to be understood

falling forwards tumbling through the years

ghosts of our own futures.