Thursday, August 29, 2013
Fic O ‘Lil
Fic O ‘Lil, the limey shrieked
Thy five year old hath truly speaked
Och grammar! You pathetic loon
Get thy tongue from silver spoon.
Thy cousin the Famous Sewer Rat
Hath dignity and your measure that
You who speaketh a basic kind
In your five year old I hath find
Thy roots, thy ancestral glitch
None would marry, nor would hitch
Rutted madly, spilling out babes
Left and right, Illegitimate Naves
“Chec that spelling”; och hear it bleat
Our five year old hath an acid beak.
In time you might lay less with mine
Go to work and stiffen thy spine
Aye; and I’ll be a speaker more likely
You’re name be ours, shared politely.
From Tympaniaios Poems published 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
He believes in God
Said the madman
To his psychologist,
Prove God said he
And the madman said no
Thus he was let go
For who is to say
Delusion is no belief.
Upon the spot of death
A pile of sugar lay,
Upon the coffin’s head
A similar pile lay
For there is nothing worse
Than scattered memories
That are lost
In this period of grief.
There was a time
When the mother
Kept her mouth shut
An impossible task
One might say
But all energies were needed
In the talking jungle.
Breasts drawn on a man asleep
Is no mischief,
For when this man wakes
His transgender dream fulfils
The man’s wish
That he will now die
To what he was born as.
In a conversation between
Spittle flew from out the mouth of one,
And the other seeing her distress
And upon returning it to her
Saw that her brief sickness
Was no more.
There are some whose personalities
And if they are not liked
No one will seek them
But if they are
They are best caught in leather boots
Since attractive personalities
Are easily slipped into.
That if she tells all who ask
Who she is
Then that would mean
Revealing everything about herself,
That is why she has a special friend
Who goes with her
And tells her name instead.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Whilst lecturing the faithful on the evils of relationship hazards outside the bounds of god endorsed matrimony,
Whilst lecturing the faithful on the evils of relationship hazards outside the bounds of god endorsed matrimony,
Who fear and dare not move beyond their directed lifestyles knowing that the genitals of the wayward reap no peace from herpes and syphilis and other diseases beyond god's mercy,
Be it homosexuals, adulterers or teenage romantics who defy the logic of the ecumenical commands that serve the people to perfection,
Amid the dire warning of the putrid consequences of ignoring or defying the word that both serves and commands the people,
Whether it is temporarily in purgatory or permanently in hell's fires eternally licking at the wayward anatomy and singe pubic hair,
For the infinite mercy of god has its limits and cannot be expected to tolerate the bad behaviour of the educated and blessed that should know better,
Amid the compassionate cries for the ignorant souls and the mentally afflicted who touch their private parts and know not why,
Amid the violent call for sinners to denounce all human evil and its vile manifestations,
Whilst delivering such scripted diarrhoea from the open bowels of Satan himself
The disturbed preacher begins his redemption.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Once out of his house and on the train Googly, that is his nickname, explores his relationship with the world, his junking of its conventions, going out of his way to seek higher ideals. For one born on the peripheral bounds of a vast metropolitan city, it is remarkable that from early in his life Googly has imagined himself a great teacher, who, having renounced materialism, is instead sitting quietly, bearded and homeless and surrounded by students.
Googly’s father and mother desperately want him to be a footballer and an accountant; the career of the first being gloriously brief but built on huge contracts and endorsements, and the second slow and steady, building on knowledge, credentials and experience. Googly decided at twenty two he will have none of it. He wants to learn about life on the streets, and witness the lives of battlers, the lonely, the stressed and all who are not at peace with the world. These are his people Googly feels for, not badge wearers and status climbers. By night he does what his parents wish and he attends night school and goes to footy practice, and by day he does things his way.
What presently alarms him is how people live and work in city noise and its associated stress. To Googly they appear to be like bees at a hive, moving like chaos but always close to the hive. For Googly there is a desert space in the city in which to think and to contemplate, but if one does not see it the opportunity to experience it is impossible. There appears to be no doorway for people to pass through, no space around the hive, and nowhere for individual bees to go and sit and be safe alone. To be alone and be still and observe Googly believes, helps the bee person understand the controlling motives of city behaviour. In this space the lone person is painless. There are no unethical pursuits of pleasure and happiness. There are no rewards for shopping, no kudos for competing. Googly has found such deserts in back alleys and behind trees in parks, and in public conveniences. But when he tells other people they can’t see it. Some yell at him calling him a guru nut.
What goes around should come back around, good for good and bad for bad; and yet they often don’t. Things happen upside down. Googly, observing in his train travels, realises that many who suffer are also good, even though they suffer. Others, who are not so good, and who are selfish and petty, still get along on the turbulent winds that drive them. Googly is finding that he lives in a strange world of topsy-turvy rules. And there are few second chances.
Friday, May 10, 2013
The father threw his foreskin
Into a freezing salty lake
In the hope that his progeny’s promiscuity
Like father like son
Will bring contraception,
And no pox
To scar a conquering past.
And though snoring is done
It is no good for the soul
For it leaves but must stay
Stays but must leave
And by what passageway?
Out through the mouth
Or in through the nose
Or be lateral and do both.
His feet will never touch the ground
His hair and nails are rarely cut
The sun is unworthy of warming him
When he is relaxed upon his throne,
His eating implements are for him alone
He is friendless and retired
And too great to be admired.
Misfortunes that befall the world
May be put down to
The fetishes and taboos
Associated with the sea
Where none must gaze upon it
Nor bathe nor swim,
And to fish from it
Is to draw up hatred.
When a person falls asleep
The soul leaves for a time
And the person is spiritually dead,
For the soul becomes a thing
That seeks and inhabits dreams
Until it is caught by light
And it returns through skin
To rejoin the person waking.
A True priest of the Jesus Christ
Is akin to The Holy Milkman
Who is therefore celibate,
And whose lips will touch no other
And who wears a flimsy garment
And who sleeps out of doors
And who is first to tackle Demons
And who rises after the dead.
A homicidal maniac
Who suffers epileptic fits
And is manic one minute
Depressed the next
Is revered by Extremists
As one who is their shadow,
When vengeance is needed
The maniac is their likely hero.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Her parents don’t know when it began, her mental health workers can’t figure out why she is this way, her religious elders can’t explain how the devil got in. And here she is, a girl nearly twenty who is behaving like a fish. Like an erectus Axolotl, to those horrified by her choice to become a fish. It’s not that she’s intellectually or emotionally handicapped. And it’s not that she’s actually living under water. Well not yet. Indeed she has been contemplating university for quite awhile. She has a short term future to fulfill while she remains living on this oxygen saturated surface that has no call for gills. But she is unsure of what she should study. There are so many options. It’s difficult to predict the kinds of jobs that will be needed in the future. She may play it safe and do accountancy or law. Marine science is out, and so is teaching.
Her name is Dolphin. She used to be known to her parents and friends as Alexandria Constance Shervington-Smythe, but she changed her name to Dolphin by deed poll on her eighteenth birthday. Her favorite pastime is whale watching. She doesn’t like seeing goldfish swimming exposed in glass bowls. After watching it on DVD she couldn’t understand why A Fish Called Wanda was called funny. Dolphin hasn’t got a boyfriend at the moment, and she is an active user of social media.
As soon as she was able, Dolphin moved out from her parent’s home situated in the leafy hinterland of a growing metropolis to a one bedroom flat by the sea. Upon her becoming a fish she has a powerful need to live at the sea, and be subsumed in its smells, its sounds and when she’s thirsty to get a salty taste of it. She needs the ever shifting horizon to show her that a fish life is boundless. And best of all she will swim it.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Opening excerpt from the eBook Oceanus, Celebrities and the useful Role that is Forging his Happiness
WANTED – HELP BY THE OCCASION. Strong young man, must be fit and durable and be flexible to work with a busy famous celebrity couple. No experience necessary. Oversized hands will be well regarded. Great hourly rate. Apply Box W000 In Your Capital City.
Oceanus’s mum had cut the advert from their local newspaper for him to respond. A job for a young lad with large hands eh. This could be her son’s best opportunity for gainful work. Celebrity couple eh. They’d pay well. I wonder who they are? Brad and Ange. Keith and Nicole. Tom and friend. There are a lot of them swanning about at the moment. Well Oceanus is going to have to apply to find out, won’t he!
Oceanus did apply and indeed he got the job. His oversized hands are to be employed as human chairs. He can do this sitting or standing depending upon the occasion, whether they are red carpet events like the Academy Awards or posing for the paparazzi and journalists. He is to dress in a dinner suit with sleeves optional, to not speak, and to remain as motionless and expressionless as possible during the occasion. His arms will hang down by his side, his large hands are to extend and stay rigid (the couple have offered him their personal trainer as a perk), and so as to not sweat beneath their beautiful bottoms, he is to wear gloves; this while the celebrity power couple hold court. Oceanus is getting the work and he is well paid for it. Social likes that he has some casual work and maybe he’ll eventually get off benefit; they and the celebrity couple tell him that he is useful.
One night at dinner Oceanus and his mum have a conversation about happiness. Was this the type of work that could numb his self esteem pain? He says he is getting pleasure from the job, and it’s a pathway to happiness, long sought by many, but rarely found. For his use Oceanus has a future, like his dead dad and his proud mum wish for him. His mum says every day that she is happy for him. His gross hands are his right action for the right people, and in the right time in his life. The merits of his oversized hands actualise him, making him useful to others. Mum has read her Hume and Mill. But Oceanus tells his mum that he is little more than selfish, because all he wants is happiness and that is a selfish feeling, and the celebrities who sit on his hands are also selfish; and his happiness will end because of his relentless pursuit of it. Testing him, mum asks which of his two masters’ pleasure or pain, would Oceanus choose to keep. One without the other would surely rid his selfishness. Oceanus said he would rather keep them both despite himself, because he would find a way to be selfish without them. He would only feel less guilty, that’s all. Mum asks him why, and all Oceanus could say was there was no feeling he could get rid of, if he were truly honest with himself.