A bother of spots from a marplot, whose persistant fiddlings undid our creative diddlings and released our plans across the land.
Tuesday 18 December 2012
Wednesday 12 December 2012
Tuesday 11 December 2012
Sunday 9 December 2012
The pupil who wanted to become teacher
Every pupil wanted to usurp their tutelary master,
But I wanted to do it much, much faster.
And so extra learning became my nights,
The aim of which to win each intellectual fight,
Until I left that old man completely burned out
And went on my way with my genius to flout.
Soon, though, I learned that without direction
I could not reach my momentous delectation,
That without this man I could not reach
The standard I could then to others teach.
But rather than bring me into line
This knowledge led me to my crime.
Impatient always and ever and to the last,
I went less than cooly about my task.
After another put down after impetulance,
I lanced him with absolute impudence,
Before proceeding to beat in his skull
Repeatedly and without a single lull
Until I was restrained and taken to the dungeon,
Where I would no longer be able to bludgeon.
If there is a moral to this odd little tale,
Is it that against your elders you should not rail?
Or to be patient, to hold out for the course?
Or just not kill, not to flog a dead horse?
I don’t know, I never really learned a thing,
That’s why I ended up bound in the clink.
But I wanted to do it much, much faster.
And so extra learning became my nights,
The aim of which to win each intellectual fight,
Until I left that old man completely burned out
And went on my way with my genius to flout.
Soon, though, I learned that without direction
I could not reach my momentous delectation,
That without this man I could not reach
The standard I could then to others teach.
But rather than bring me into line
This knowledge led me to my crime.
Impatient always and ever and to the last,
I went less than cooly about my task.
After another put down after impetulance,
I lanced him with absolute impudence,
Before proceeding to beat in his skull
Repeatedly and without a single lull
Until I was restrained and taken to the dungeon,
Where I would no longer be able to bludgeon.
If there is a moral to this odd little tale,
Is it that against your elders you should not rail?
Or to be patient, to hold out for the course?
Or just not kill, not to flog a dead horse?
I don’t know, I never really learned a thing,
That’s why I ended up bound in the clink.
Friday 7 December 2012
No Ratiocination
Never The
Dark Warrior I am simply not capableFallen of ratiocination: will rise but thrice. Bodies
faking, From chocolate hits, Scattalogical to leaves,the extreme,
To cream that is whipped, writhing
Always The Dark Warrior No matter how much I eAutumnmploy
determination, will takeover twice. Sweat
shaking. Cake and all Thinking about ittrees. a constant stream.
things sweet:sliding
Fear The Dark Warrior I can never maintain a traiHandsn of
thought, will attack from every angle. Inter
rules, Cola, caramel Worrying always amuffling,bout its state, and
sugar beet. locking
Never The Dark Warrior However hard the battle isFeet fought, will
rise through dark triangles. Freely
nude. Veg and meats About the toilet shuffling.bowl’s fate. for
Sunday roast, fucking
Born The Dark Warrior Flitting from oneHearts thing to the next
will not exist. Heavy
worrier, Hot, buttered Mind snaps Eracing,ternally, and jammy
toast, breathing
Brow The Dark Warrior From film to pictures Eyesto music to
text:will of mist consist. Fleshy
furrower. Muffins, crumpets, Mind cracksfacing. Infernally. scones
and cheese:squeezing
Show The Dark Warrior I cannot stay fWarmingocused, may still
power retain Climax
concern, Crisps, crackers, Synapse straindays,: Head in pain,
sausage please! building
Never The Dark Warrior’s My mind’s toChangingo footloose. future
is uncertain Sweet
learn. Thoughts of food I do desire, This compulsion: Mways.y
propulsion. Sets my stomach’s lust on fire. releasing
Thursday 6 December 2012
Tuesday 4 December 2012
The Phantasm
The phantasm hung over me nightly,
Fixing me to the mattress with its mad stare.
The phantasm was a beast unsightly,
With long lank black and bloody hair
That would dangle down and scratch my nose,
And I never dared move even my toes.
The phantasm would hang from dusk til dawn,
Hovering only a few feet above my bed.
The phantasm’s mouth was fixed like a yawn
And it would drip blood down upon my head,
Where it would collect and flow to my sheets
Stained red as Christ’s hands and feet.
The phantasm’s blood and hair I felt on my face,
Yet when he left me in the morning
The phantasm’s blood left no physical trace,
But for a slow thought within me dawning:
A phantasm by its very definition
Could only be in my imagination!
The phantasm, then, did not exist,
Though I saw and felt it every night.
The phantasm, then, did consist
Only of thoughts made into fright.
And how do you rid yourself of such a curse
Before you wind up being driven in a hearse,
When the phantasm controls my brain
During the time meant for dreamy rest;
When the phantasm my energy drains
So that I lose every single bravery test?
Surely then I had to accept
A life where I never slept.
But what if I could change my mind?
What if within me I could find
A way to alter this hovering beast
And upon his carcass feast?
What if I could use another part
That would not project hell’s darts?
In the daylight hours I looked for it,
The weapon that would cleave into it,
Push it through and out my brain,
Crush it with a heavy goods train.
It took time, but when the answer I found,
I fell down laughing on the ground.
If this thing was to be found within,
Then maybe I could dictate its horrid grin.
I started with its festering locks,
Cleaning and cutting to a tidier block.
Then the face, starting with the eyes,
Exchanging them for dreamier pies.
A smile that was rank and crooked
Became instead smooth and nicely hooked.
A body emaciated, pale and sallow,
Became something a lot more fallow.
Every part I changed of him,
To create a whole no longer grim,
But instead a spectre of awe and delight,
A beauty to slice this darkness, to smite
The evil one away forever, to be replaced
With a man I wanted to meet face to face.
In my mind’s eye and to my delight
I did: night after night after night after night.
And never did I have a better, deeper, sleep
Than the first time my hand went on a creep,
And changed everything with a gentle rub
As soothing as a long, hot soak in the tub.
And ever after my fears drifted off and away:
Through force of thought and simple pleasures
Fixing me to the mattress with its mad stare.
The phantasm was a beast unsightly,
With long lank black and bloody hair
That would dangle down and scratch my nose,
And I never dared move even my toes.
The phantasm would hang from dusk til dawn,
Hovering only a few feet above my bed.
The phantasm’s mouth was fixed like a yawn
And it would drip blood down upon my head,
Where it would collect and flow to my sheets
Stained red as Christ’s hands and feet.
The phantasm’s blood and hair I felt on my face,
Yet when he left me in the morning
The phantasm’s blood left no physical trace,
But for a slow thought within me dawning:
A phantasm by its very definition
Could only be in my imagination!
The phantasm, then, did not exist,
Though I saw and felt it every night.
The phantasm, then, did consist
Only of thoughts made into fright.
And how do you rid yourself of such a curse
Before you wind up being driven in a hearse,
When the phantasm controls my brain
During the time meant for dreamy rest;
When the phantasm my energy drains
So that I lose every single bravery test?
Surely then I had to accept
A life where I never slept.
But what if I could change my mind?
What if within me I could find
A way to alter this hovering beast
And upon his carcass feast?
What if I could use another part
That would not project hell’s darts?
In the daylight hours I looked for it,
The weapon that would cleave into it,
Push it through and out my brain,
Crush it with a heavy goods train.
It took time, but when the answer I found,
I fell down laughing on the ground.
If this thing was to be found within,
Then maybe I could dictate its horrid grin.
I started with its festering locks,
Cleaning and cutting to a tidier block.
Then the face, starting with the eyes,
Exchanging them for dreamier pies.
A smile that was rank and crooked
Became instead smooth and nicely hooked.
A body emaciated, pale and sallow,
Became something a lot more fallow.
Every part I changed of him,
To create a whole no longer grim,
But instead a spectre of awe and delight,
A beauty to slice this darkness, to smite
The evil one away forever, to be replaced
With a man I wanted to meet face to face.
In my mind’s eye and to my delight
I did: night after night after night after night.
And never did I have a better, deeper, sleep
Than the first time my hand went on a creep,
And changed everything with a gentle rub
As soothing as a long, hot soak in the tub.
And ever after my fears drifted off and away:
Through force of thought and simple pleasures
they were totally allayed.
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