I thought of this:-
Left Behind
This is what the fans left behind after the pop festival
Anecdotes of a cave dweller
The rock stone woman
Stood out of the boulder
Half finished
The moon hone
With its ice cube white light
What had happened?
The lighthouse
Has had its lamp
Disconnected
The waves
Crash onto the shore
Further more
Thick people appear
In my imagination
Sadly
Thick people
Are out of fashion
Or I would fill the page with them
How have I managed?
To amass such a large
Collection
Of tools
From a simple yellow screwdriver
Some bicycle spanners
And a craft knife
I now have
Two big
Menacing toolboxes
I should take them to the riverside
And leave them
In the foaming tide
Where they would
Set to work
Nailing the river current
To the river bed
Sawing up the waves
Into 2 by 1
And nailing driftwood
To the beard of the sun
The enemy storm clouds
Scurried down behind the wall
The bricklayers lay dead
I have no pleasure
In your music
Only hurt
That the murdered soul
Lies in a pool of blood
Wobbly fat
And butchered meat
In the doorway
You see
There’s nothing
To be afraid of
My memories are like
Slugs and spider
That you can
Easily crush
Broken Blossom
The fallen flowers collected off the ground from the fuchsia outside. Wonder plant so abundant as fast as they fall they are replaced by new.
The variations. The strange look of the flies that an angler uses to catch fish.
I was going to draw them but haven’t time to do everything so this will serve the purpose of a sketch, memorandum. I have tried to glue them to the cartridge paper with PVA glue to see what happens.
Broken Blossom a memorable old film by D. W. Griffith about Limehouse Chinatown 1919.
Sara Seahorse
Sara
Sara Seahorse
All that glitter
In your hair
Sara
Sara Seahorse
Gathering straw
For her mare
Sara, Sara Seahorse
Walking by
The riverside
Sara, Sara seahorse
When will you
Be the bride
Sunsets in your diaries
Stars in your jewellery case
Her beauty is breath-taking
Her life a fleeting breath
Sara
Sara Seahorse
Sleeping silently
In the tide
Sara, Sara seahorse
Twists and turns
In the seas side
Beast of burden
The beast of burden
The working class slave
Saddled and shod
Sinks into the grave
While the eye cannot see
Nor the telescope find
Words in heaven
Spiritual signs
The beast of burden
Sits on a drain
His teeth are a grate
He’s lost his brain
While the eye cannot see
Nor the telescope find
Words in heaven
Or the spiritual sign
The beast of burden
Grows from the soil
Dirty fingernails
Mud on his soul
His feet are like horseshoes
As he drags the stone
His eyes are fettered
His heart is alone
While the eye cannot see
Nor the telescope find
Words in heaven
Or a spiritual sign
27 Recent Views :)
If I was a TV
If I was a TV
What would my settings be?
I put on my TV like a coat
Outside I go
Into TV land
I saw her TV
walking by the river
In the TV I saw a river
or
The river flows like a TV channel
A TV sails by on the river
With clouds pouring out of its screen
I saw a TV with four legs
Running to catch the ferry
People are so conditioned by their TVs now
I avoid crowded shopping centres
Where no one tunes their TVs properly
And their eyes swim about
Like frying eggs
In crisp hot static
And disappear into the noisy hubbub
Sing: Oh, the western world is a TV world
you challenge the world
you challenge people to look at the world differently and this is what they do!
I often read this the nice statement in art books. this is an area of London with disused warehouses that at one point attracted a lot of artists.
now it has become a newer secondary financial and commercial area to the city of London.
like the religion that goes to a poor country to teach about Christ is often only the spearhead of an army. which a study of general history will show.
Ian Dury and Blockheads
Its got a Caribbean rhythm except faster and more obsesive. He reminds me of Lou Reed with those glasses/shades. Has he turned what could be a request to be beaten up into cool bravado thing. Life on the road song. Been to all those places with his band.
“Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick”
In the deserts of Sudan
And the gardens of Japan
From Milan to Yucatán
Every woman, every man
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me! Hit me!
Je t’adore, ich liebe dich
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me slowly, hit me quick
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
In the wilds of Borneo
And the vineyards of Bordeaux
Eskimo, Arapaho
Move their body to and fro
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me! Hit me!
Das ist gut, c’est fantastique
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me with your rhythm stick
It’s nice to be a lunatic
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me! Hit me! Hit!
In the dock of Tiger Bay
On the road to Mandalay
From Bombay to Santa Fé
Over the hills far away
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me! Hit me!
C’est si bon, ist es nicht
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Two fat persons, click, click, click
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
