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Miz World

Miz World got bigger every day

Her substance grew like a balloon

Blown out of all proportion by inflated dreams

And as her bloated form expanded

Contractors were called in to supply demand

For the costumery of gargantuan spread

Tailors from Milan, costumes from Madrid

Her suitors clamoured at her feet

Burlington Berties, Presidents’ reps, stage Door Johnies galore

And to complete the picture Gentleman Jims –

Appointments were made for accountancy men;

And bankers from Hong Kong and Beijing

Competed to lend her as much as desired

And the financial advisers found ways

To fit the fake figures in.

To get rich was so glorious, to consume was supreme

So Miz World was the consumer of every conceit

Her appetite was prodigious and never complete

Shoes by the truck load adorned her sweet feet

The jewelry merchants sold her diamonds galore

The stock markets boomed as she cried out for more

An inflatable costume was belatedly required

And more invisible earnings were pumped up inside

Then came the moment, then came the day

When the costume could be inflated no more

With an explosion as loud as dynamite

The whole thing burst into latex and foam

Miz World stood naked her figure grotesquely obese

Her make up ran down her cheeks in coloured goblets of synthetic sweat

After extensive delays the emergency service appeared on the scene

Held up in the rush hour, long out of control, and carted Miz World away

Jewelry was being recovered a mile from the scene

And helped patch up her financial dismay

Though her debts are still cosmic, there is talk of a reprieve

For the tide of consuming cannot be ignored

Though the poor and the starving knock at her door –

Without the wealth from consumption

They’d leave even more poor!

A.A. 2005

The Cocoa Curator

If cocoa be the food we love,

Think comrades where that food comes from

And how its coat can sometimes be

The secretion of a beetle who’s rarely seen

But goes by the name of lac/shellac –

With chocolate emulsified and held together

By cocoa butter fat – who makes this butter

Who plies shellac and do the cocoa farmers

live in medieval shacks?

Thus was the cocoa curator fired

To find out more about the food of love

For is it not our way, that a neatly packaged selection

Comes with Cupid’s grace and arrows of desire

To break the code of cocoa

Is to crack the brittle edifice of capital’s golden egg

And find the sickly yolk within –

And in the cabinets are chocolate boxes on display

With model chocolates made of clay

Café crème, toffee central, pralene

Along with austerity erzatz choc

And in a case all on its own

A golden Mayan cocoa drinking cup.

A.A. 2005

Limbo Land

Limbo land is on the corner

Of any street in any town

Limbo café, limbo bar

Take a look around

Buy a coffee, read a paper

Hang about in limbo land

Kiddies corner

With a play group

Happy children holding hands

One bright future

Chocolate smudges on their noses

Hanging out in Limbo land.

Orange lights and orange faces

In the streets of Limbo land

Business parks with toxic traces

Gridlocked highways – hideaway places

At the heart of limbo land.

What’s for breakfast

Croissants and a traffic jam

Candy coloured pop art phases

On the walls of limbo land.

Plastic face’s

altered image,

Identity on the run.

This is a strange world

This is our future

Don’t know where we’re going

Can it be fun?

Pink is warm, and blue is cold

In the latest shopping mall

People sitting calmly.

In the rush hour buses –

Queuing for a viewing

At a fantasian cinema –

Dressed in joke shop costumes

For a pseudo-fetish party

This is telly tubby music

We must be having fun!

This is a strange world

Fabricated water features

This is our cosmetic future

Don’t know whether it’s a fake or real

All night shopping Artificial sunlight

Fabric that glows in the dark

Air conditioned

Bubble wrapping

Chemicalised synthetics

Factory versus free range farming

Real flowers that look like fakes

Urban sculpture

Take-off angles

Secret symbols

For organic functions

Cloned humans

Artificial births

Neu/Verity Feb 16 – 2004

Let me die the death of a neo-pagan

Let me die the death of a neo-pagan

Lying in my bed listening to the song of a nightingale

And should there be any guests present

What better way to say goodbye

Than to contemplate the harmonies of such a bird.

May the hollow skull of death appear to me

Accompanied by the painted temple eyes of Shiva

And those of the eagle and owl.

And should the hounds of Hades appear

May they greet me as a friend and master

With their piercing red eyes.

May I see the wind of death

In the form of a beautiful female sprite

With wild flowing hair,

And the poppy fairy dance from flower to flower

Against a bright blue sky,

When I take the home-made tincture

Of laudanum to counteract the pain

May I see the faces of all those I’ve known

So that I may know who to forgive

And from who to ask forgiveness.

And when we die, if we pass the test,

Let us not look down on those

Who may have to suffer in the other world,

For they too must be rescued and redeemed

By their angel guides, once the price is paid

In the crucible of hell.

The spirit that created us

Intended that we co-operate

To live, both on earth and in heaven

For only in this way

Can life in body and soul be sustained.

Carry my body on a horse-drawn totters cart

Wrapped in old potato sacking

Or in a makeshift box constructed

From discarded wooden crates

Let my funeral procession be accompanied

By a trad jazz band, trumpet, trombone

Banjo, snare drum and base

And make sure the kids from the streets
Get some penny treats.
As for the procession I’ll be lucky

If there are more than five old boys

From Albion Hill,

As I slowly proceed up Lewes Road

To Brighton Cemetry's Crematorium.

Or maybe I’ll be buried in an unmarked grave

Like my father

On a downland slope facing the General Hospital

Where he died,

A Scotsman in a foreign land.

Better still perhaps, to be buried at sea

Just off the Palace Pier

From a fisherman’s rowing boat

So that when the tide is low

Kids visiting the ghost Train

May glance at the sea below and catch a glint

Of shining bone in a ray of sunshine

On the August Bank.

They’d cry out to their chums

Look mate, there’s a ghost down in the sea

I saw its bleeding skeleton.

Might just as well be consumed by shrimps & crabs

As worms or flames,

It’s all the same to me.


Of Molluscs & Men

Words of Wisdom from Dr D. Bunk:

Found 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.

From “The One O’Clock Gun” Volume 1 Number 1

The Fivolity of Food

The Fivolity of Food

Fashions Fractures

Fragile Farming!


Faction Fighting






Dr Neu 2003

Take the Red Pill The Matrix Revisited

As 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.

The 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.

The 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.

A Samizdat White Rabbit Publication 2005

Just switch the ‘Matrix’ story line around and you get the real picture. We are being sucked ever further into virtual reality, the web matrix.

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