ORDINARY SO

See more; clearly

smoke the rings of early day, human mystery revelling

in the intrigue of rank. The ‘Curse of Tutankhamun’ ; what you might have been.

Human predator's make like fire ants. Repel borders, lives of resilience

and sagacity.  Suggestable contempt rapture of protection. Jewels where once were eyes.  

Existence is a cruel becoming.

POEM FOR MORTON FELDMAN.  

(On the occasion of a concert from Wigmore Hall 9/01/21)

 

Somewhere inside the note’s tracery

Against the wood panelling and the red velvet

Indeterminacy hovers above the stage

Plucked strings shivered intimacy

Please don’t mention the cosmos

This music lives in a domestic realm

Apply it to the now of cigarettes and thick framed glasses

A cup of milk the guts of a piano cold Manhattan winds

That grin.

 

 

FINGER NAILS

 

Mostly un-knowing today 

It might as well snow.

 

Watch the video

If complicity is what you’re looking for.

 

Too tarnished to come back again

But ever watchful.

 

Clean the palette empty

Out the lungs; frost sweeps down.

 

“The point is…..”

Voice trails off; the rest is muffled behind a wall.

 

We grew together 

Closer but more apart each time.

 

Entertaining holiday plans instead

Burst smash up; inertia made hollowed out palms.

A new way of working

Congregate, steal a sign.

 

Sonic armour, a squall; fire at sea good morning chaos!

Seasons change but you remain the same, what haven’t you learnt from the weather?

So many unanswered questions; some important but most trivial, like where did you put my keys?

Déjà vu, Groundhog Day, same shit…. The list is endless. Is the goal enlightenment or survival?

Can ‘Becoming’ be non-linear? 

Italicise, you know it makes sense.

Banality bombing raid overnight. Many casualties, the main one being my sanity. Thanks for that.

Blown to bits, fragments brain matter sinew sprayed out over the laptop 

What exactly? Let’s go by books; watch them tumble in over our head’s underground markets light 

burns retina contracts lichen burnished insect trails wood smoke frozen mud diseased mind trail of 

desolate beach molluscs crabs on a sting enchantment wonder awe tripping oranges and reds 

burnished jungle fire journey by rail sweet tea heroic tendons turn page after page to arrive now.

 NEW CHARACTER ‘MOBY DUCK'

Look down at feet and close eyes.

memories on a page, now update your browser

As if  we are standing

        at the pinnacle of creation; in the centre of a swirling vortex heralding your arrival

To consciousness. 

Nothing and nobody can save you from existence. You are blood flow and breath

Nothing else.

 

Two dead eyed boys throwing broken bricks into a flat bed trailer. 

Following desire to its bitter end.  Come faster, end better.

                                        |------------------------------------------------------|

                                                        Quixotic daydreams

                                                        Artist's light installations

                                                        The room's constant glow

                                

                                                                         (from Skeleton Keys, Thomas Moore)

 

THE LIFE HORIZONTAL

Zone of indifference - I can’t write with you behind me

Nothing original anyway - Anxiety building constantly

Got two laptops from the school

Had a chat with someone I had previously hated for no reason while I was waiting

She was ok actually.

Rubbish and discarded trees litter the pavement.

Watched films on my laptop all through the night

One was about a famous mountaineer that lost his memory

He got it back though

By reading all the books he had written

One day he scaled the outside of the hospital where he was being kept

He was the first person to reach this summit

Moving house is nothing compared to this

And he was 87

Laying horizontal – Too much ambient music has scalded my brain

Indoor Life – were an interesting post-punk group from America.

More research – In the early morning we drove up from Malibu onto the Pacific Coast Highway

Elliot Gould was fantastic in The Long Goodbye.

 

Blank as the word, black as the heart.

Who said that?

To exist as nothing                                                                                  Mandala

To find invisibility

The rest is ego and cheap goods.                                                                                     Spectre

Crows scrape across the first light                                  Nucleus

Winter echoes, frozen air

Delivering books to your door, flop, in they come                                                                    Scripted

Yum. Not serious but playful. We do our yoga; are nice to the children.

 Hope that they will have  happy lives.

Not scarred by self-destructive natures, resentful and angry. But enlightened.

Enough to care about you in our old age.

After enduring so much life what’s next? 

A snowstorm would be nice. Then we could wrap ourselves up; pretend we are living inside one of those plastic globes; shaken up but alright. Slowly the speckles descend.

Didn’t drink last night or the night before; might not drink tonight. This week, sobriety is intoxicating.