At the gruelling hour of three, I was scratching at my new grown ringworm (Apply Betamethasone Valerate, Gentamicin and Miconazole Nitrate). Looked pretty. A bit patchy but white, li'l bits o' the' skin littered about all o' th' place but yet, neat.
I'd noticed neat boundaries marking it off the skin. What was that thing about the hairy mantle? Can't remember anyway. Read somethin' about a guy called Tedd Chatterjee though. Tedd Chatterjee, who would eat and drink and vomit, drink and eat and vomit, vomit and drink and eat. But I was not sure regarding the order of his actions. It would be fun to see Chatterjee drink his vomit or to think that the brewers had a contract with him 'oglin' out the best Russian Vodka for them to hold in bottles. So I pondered. And then again, there was the Hindoo mystic who preached to me about the 'natural order' of things and the utility of shedding your foreskins. ("Do you shed your foreskin, son? It's not our custom, so 'twould be unlikely that you would, but supposing you did...")
Rains drip. Drip. Drip.
When will you dig up the Earth for me? You dig and dig and dig and off she comes! The queen of the termites blathering out in saliva. I've seen her send out her children who in two days make a jungle outta the city. But now the rains, and "...glurrp glurrp, it's breedin' season, foulkes!!!"
The cigarette burns away in the rains.
Red outta the ash
But you gotta blame Virginia Woolf
'Coz she'd picked my thought like mash.
Rains drip. Drip. Drip.
Fancied color red. The old hag churns out "Red river, red river/ Sloww() floww() hea-eat is si-lence..." And plenty a'stuff 'bout Tamerlane and the Mongol ink. Sashes of velvet. ("O red! My pretty coz red!!")
By the evening hour(that strives), I saw my ringworm grow dry and tight. And by night, sharpened fingernails had made it red.
Ah, my worm,
My lit'l lit'l worm!!
Rains drip. Drip. Drip.
My ringworms itch. Itch. Itch.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
THE INTERIM DAYS
Good to see ya again!
See who? You?
'You! hypocrite lecteur!- mon semblable,- mon frere!'
Fancy blowin' out ya brains before a computer writin' out these freakin' stuff! Where u been all o'these days?? Eh? Eh?
Those were the interim days.
What you doin' all thes' freakin' days maite? Petty gimmickman get these words out o'th' belly...desolate pseudointellectual wastin' out precious time geekin'out...What you doin' man, what?
Meditating on the punks.
Me punk, eh man? You needa powder your nose up. Wanna powder your nose? Got'em plenty up the envelope. Brains run hell lot quicker..need some?
Candy floss was great. Wasted beer, Gold Flake butts, oily gin. Oil drips from the punk's rider...
When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speakin' words o' wisdom
Let it be
What if oil drippy-drippy? 'Axle's got a chain. Big deal!' The Peninsula has a nocturnal left lane. 'Yez officer., you got me'
My digestion is going bad these days. Smelly hiccups all around. Eating pork is probably the idea that'll help me. Pork...with roasted maggots crawling out of rump fat layers. How the ship cannoned her way out on to the sea! And the blood bathed down the Odessa steps. And voices were heard screaming 'out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.'
Had games of tennis with Silva and Wisler...
"what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell to shrink and dwindle I resume Fulham Clapham in a word..."
Ah! There was what interested me above all! Were you caught up in a jiffy? What will you pay me for those bellyaches I bore for you a middays?
Shadows at nights whisper to me. Strands of smoke mingle with the charcoal fumes. The Dulus are cooking dinner. Bishey
came a moment ago. The torn kite bears his name...
Days rolled. Early showers were dead long since. And afternoons were never quiet. What will happen at dawn? What about those of your multicolored nocturnal pics? What about those midday bellyaches? Those strange itches down the thighs? Nothing?
NOTHING
"'On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.'
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning "
See who? You?
'You! hypocrite lecteur!- mon semblable,- mon frere!'
Fancy blowin' out ya brains before a computer writin' out these freakin' stuff! Where u been all o'these days?? Eh? Eh?
Those were the interim days.
What you doin' all thes' freakin' days maite? Petty gimmickman get these words out o'th' belly...desolate pseudointellectual wastin' out precious time geekin'out...What you doin' man, what?
Meditating on the punks.
Me punk, eh man? You needa powder your nose up. Wanna powder your nose? Got'em plenty up the envelope. Brains run hell lot quicker..need some?
Candy floss was great. Wasted beer, Gold Flake butts, oily gin. Oil drips from the punk's rider...
When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speakin' words o' wisdom
Let it be
What if oil drippy-drippy? 'Axle's got a chain. Big deal!' The Peninsula has a nocturnal left lane. 'Yez officer., you got me'
My digestion is going bad these days. Smelly hiccups all around. Eating pork is probably the idea that'll help me. Pork...with roasted maggots crawling out of rump fat layers. How the ship cannoned her way out on to the sea! And the blood bathed down the Odessa steps. And voices were heard screaming 'out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.'
Had games of tennis with Silva and Wisler...
"what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell to shrink and dwindle I resume Fulham Clapham in a word..."
Ah! There was what interested me above all! Were you caught up in a jiffy? What will you pay me for those bellyaches I bore for you a middays?
Shadows at nights whisper to me. Strands of smoke mingle with the charcoal fumes. The Dulus are cooking dinner. Bishey
came a moment ago. The torn kite bears his name...
Days rolled. Early showers were dead long since. And afternoons were never quiet. What will happen at dawn? What about those of your multicolored nocturnal pics? What about those midday bellyaches? Those strange itches down the thighs? Nothing?
NOTHING
"'On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.'
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning "
Friday, October 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
THE BLOG OF EPIPHANIES
Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes
Ovid, Metamorphoses,VIII,188
"Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a little moocow coming down the road and this moocow that was coming down the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo..."
As you ponder o'er the pages of your old-paged,squeaky-smelling book you are tired...and suppose the lights are out and the night is as molten wax and your old chimney is burning with an alarmingly still flame...you've chewed the end of your long twisted pen enough to allow a blasted thought creep out of your mind and now you are idle,doing nothing.
You had seen it all.How we twist and turn and wander through the meaningless mazes of thought...intricately carved structures they are,but lead to greater voids at their ends.Burning fag...end smokes deeply while fire goes out...rolled paper left like crumpled leaf.What,why,how,when,where,which,who,whither,wherefore.
So are we here now,for the flash of light to fall.In dead nights.
Ovid, Metamorphoses,VIII,188
"Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a little moocow coming down the road and this moocow that was coming down the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo..."
As you ponder o'er the pages of your old-paged,squeaky-smelling book you are tired...and suppose the lights are out and the night is as molten wax and your old chimney is burning with an alarmingly still flame...you've chewed the end of your long twisted pen enough to allow a blasted thought creep out of your mind and now you are idle,doing nothing.
You had seen it all.How we twist and turn and wander through the meaningless mazes of thought...intricately carved structures they are,but lead to greater voids at their ends.Burning fag...end smokes deeply while fire goes out...rolled paper left like crumpled leaf.What,why,how,when,where,which,who,whither,wherefore.
So are we here now,for the flash of light to fall.In dead nights.
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