World got bigger every day
substance grew like a balloon
out of all proportion by inflated dreams
as her bloated form expanded
were called in to supply demand
the costumery of gargantuan spread
from Milan, costumes from Madrid
suitors clamoured at her feet
Berties, Presidents’ reps, stage Door Johnies galore
to complete the picture Gentleman Jims –
were made for accountancy men;
bankers from Hong Kong and Beijing
to lend her as much as desired
the financial advisers found ways
fit the fake figures in.
get rich was so glorious, to consume was supreme
Miz World was the consumer of every conceit
appetite was prodigious and never complete
by the truck load adorned her sweet feet
jewelry merchants sold her diamonds galore
stock markets boomed as she cried out for more
inflatable costume was belatedly required
more invisible earnings were pumped up inside
came the moment, then came the day
the costume could be inflated no more
an explosion as loud as dynamite
whole thing burst into latex and foam
World stood naked her figure grotesquely obese
make up ran down her cheeks in coloured goblets of synthetic sweat
extensive delays the emergency service appeared on the scene
up in the rush hour, long out of control, and carted Miz World away
was being recovered a mile from the scene
helped patch up her financial dismay
her debts are still cosmic, there is talk of a reprieve
the tide of consuming cannot be ignored
the poor and the starving knock at her door –
the wealth from consumption
leave even more poor!
cocoa be the food we love,
comrades where that food comes from
how its coat can sometimes be
secretion of a beetle who’s rarely seen
goes by the name of lac/shellac –
chocolate emulsified and held together
cocoa butter fat – who makes this butter
plies shellac and do the cocoa farmers
in medieval shacks?
was the cocoa curator fired
find out more about the food of love
is it not our way, that a neatly packaged selection
with Cupid’s grace and arrows of desire
break the code of cocoa
to crack the brittle edifice of capital’s golden egg
find the sickly yolk within –
in the cabinets are chocolate boxes on display
model chocolates made of clay
crème, toffee central, pralene
with austerity erzatz choc
in a case all on its own
golden Mayan cocoa drinking cup.
land is on the corner
any street in any town
café, limbo bar
a look around
a coffee, read a paper
about in limbo land
a play group
children holding hands
smudges on their noses
out in Limbo land.
lights and orange faces
the streets of Limbo land
parks with toxic traces
highways – hideaway places
the heart of limbo land.
and a traffic jam
coloured pop art phases
the walls of limbo land.
on the run.
is a strange world
is our future
know where we’re going
it be fun?
is warm, and blue is cold
the latest shopping mall
the rush hour buses –
for a viewing
a fantasian cinema –
in joke shop costumes
a pseudo-fetish party
is telly tubby music
must be having fun!
is a strange world
is our cosmetic future
know whether it’s a fake or real
night shopping Artificial sunlight
that glows in the dark
versus free range farming
flowers that look like fakes
Feb 16 – 2004
me die the death of a neo-pagan
me die the death of a neo-pagan
in my bed listening to the song of a nightingale
should there be any guests present
better way to say goodbye
to contemplate the harmonies of such a bird.
the hollow skull of death appear to me
by the painted temple eyes of Shiva
those of the eagle and owl.
should the hounds of Hades appear
they greet me as a friend and master
their piercing red eyes.
I see the wind of death
the form of a beautiful female sprite
wild flowing hair,
the poppy fairy dance from flower to flower
a bright blue sky,
I take the home-made tincture
laudanum to counteract the pain
I see the faces of all those I’ve known
that I may know who to forgive
from who to ask forgiveness.
when we die, if we pass the test,
us not look down on those
may have to suffer in the other world,
they too must be rescued and redeemed
their angel guides, once the price is paid
the crucible of hell.
spirit that created us
that we co-operate
live, both on earth and in heaven
only in this way
life in body and soul be sustained.
my body on a horse-drawn totters cart
in old potato sacking
in a makeshift box constructed
discarded wooden crates
my funeral procession be accompanied
a trad jazz band, trumpet, trombone
snare drum and base
make sure the kids from the streets
Get some penny treats.
for the procession I’ll be lucky
there are more than five old boys
I slowly proceed up Lewes Road
Brighton Cemetry's Crematorium.
maybe I’ll be buried in an unmarked grave
a downland slope facing the General Hospital
Scotsman in a foreign land.
still perhaps, to be buried at sea
off the Palace Pier
a fisherman’s rowing boat
that when the tide is low
visiting the ghost Train
glance at the sea below and catch a glint
shining bone in a ray of sunshine
the August Bank.
cry out to their chums
mate, there’s a ghost down in the sea
saw its bleeding skeleton.
just as well be consumed by shrimps & crabs
worms or flames,
all the same to me.
of Wisdom from Dr D. Bunk:
a discarded bag of winkles. After picking up its wet surface, wiped
my gloves along a sandstone wall to remove any decaying mucus. Then
I wondered are they still alive, so I opened the bag and they smelt
just like the ocean rocks and their lids were closed. What a fate for
a living being. I wandered along the street but I couldn’t get away
from them. I stopped and contemplated their predicament. I had a
day ticket so I could take them to the sea for no extra costs, but
couldn’t make up my mind so I spun a coin for a heads or tails
result rather than a trigram. It came up heads, so I took the
molluscs to the ocean in a state of euphoria. Everywhere the forces
of destruction prevail but here was a gesture of affirmation. In the
dimly lit tide of the rocks I returned a bag of living beings to
their home. I noticed that some of their lids become detached so
perhaps a few were already dead. Like a mollusc we are a drop in the
ocean and all we have to do is return to our home, the undiluted
acceptance of being.
One O’Clock Gun”
Volume 1 Number 1
Fivolity of Food
Fivolity of Food
Take the Red
Pill The Matrix
the Grabber 8 fiasco approaches, it could be a good time to take
another look at the ‘matrix’. The film indicates the problem of
a technology over which it appears we have no control, leading to
global disaster. In reality what control there is, ie in fact in the
hands of the corporate capitalists and state capitalist cliques and
their profit-led permanent revolution is in re-inventing capitalism
through new technologies. If human evolution had been collective then
city-state imperial slave labour could never have developed. Technology
will depend on capitalist wage slavery until the masses
can take democratic control of all forms of production, in field,
factory and workshop. At the moment collectivised availability of
technology is the best model, such as sharing computer equipment,
replacing the P.C. with the collective computer.
Matrix being a product of Hollywood, can only have a limited
dialectic, because Hollywood’s remit has never been to promote a
workers free state.
films red and blue pill choice and reference to the white rabbit
defers to the psychedelic experience. The mechanical monsters in the
matrix web can be seen as emblems of a bad trip. The kind of problem
sometimes encountered in difficult and dangerous large doses of
psychotropic drugs. With cannabis, the paranoia is often associated
with somewhat intangible control systems, as clearly implicated in
the film; whatever, change starts with each one of us, in the matrix
of our own lives and interactions.
Samizdat White Rabbit Publication 2005
switch the ‘Matrix’ story line around and you get the real
picture. We are being sucked ever further into virtual reality, the