Parents on trains with children
Parents on trains with children Independently filling in word search puzzles Obediently and as instructed This is hateful and Consistently turpitudinous A boot stamping on the face of Temporal substance and love
Posts
Descendants of the Decadents
One of my earliest memories of drawing aged about 8 is the thrill of inventing grotesque faces with a classmate and passing the resulting scarred and deformed phizogs between each other to make the time in Miss Palmer’s English lessons somehow more pleasurable. I can still remember the surprise and wonder I felt that this capacity to produce such horrific countenances was available to me through the readily accessed felt tip pen and paper. Now I wonder if this actual felt intensity was none other the feeling of the proximity to creative emergence itself. I have recently begun to wonder if these glimpses of the mental quality woven into the cosmos might not be responsible for all instances of creative inspiration, where one feels a deep sense of meaning within an event. This event might be the reading of a cheap horror comic inside a disused concrete water pipe on a hillside scrubland or it might be the moment that the green fuse visited Dylan Thomas or Blake found heaven in a wil...
In the Future
In the future there will be adult-sized scooters that travel at high velocity without making a sound In the future buses will have automatic doors but ticket collectors will be a thing of the past in the future In the future people will have access to exercise freely as long as they are a member In the future smoking will become electronic and you will not have to visit an arcade in order to gamble In the future culture will be truly diverse thanks to the capabilities of electronic calculus to taxonomize difference into smaller and smaller calibrations. In the future all superstition will be replaced with coincidence And the interstices of society will be a filled with expanding foam In the future the post will be handled by virtual mail order In the future dust will never settle but neither will it rise. In the future shopping trollies will steer easily On account of having a mind of their own
A Real Boy
I couldn’t lay my hands On my sea-shoes So I wore my in-line Roller skates I couldn’t find my toe-nail Clippers so I used my non-secateurs To not trim my toe-nails I was unable to find a pen So I smeared faeces Up the wall in a simple Emoji of a scholar I couldn’t reach the top shelf So I googled bucks-fizz I wasn’t able to read the small print So I signed my life away In the blood of African orphans And then I was a real boy