Archive for February, 2006
In a room off the street we wait
We prop up the bar, awaiting the entertainment
They seem to come from nowhere like insects swarming
When the rock is lifted. They are only half-alive
In this dark universe
They certainly dazzle me
With their magic words
And distorted imagery
Incantations that dance before our very eyes
And the slow striptease begins and the nakedness
Is worth waiting for. Their soft skin yields
Beneath our imaginary touch.
They are collages
This as paper
Held together by glue
Headless, for we never see their faces
We only see their skin as it glistens
Beneath the hot lights and we are bewitched
By this strange and erotic world
We are vampires
We set upon them,
Longing to consume
Longing to devour.
And there are magic mirrors all around
We look and as our reflections rebound
We see something we’ve never seen before
We are pure. It is she who is the whore
We emerge reborn
Gratified and cleansed
Briefcases in hand
We return to real life.
T-Shirt Design:, accompanied by the words: Liberal doesn’t sound so good these days, so the lefties have made up a new name for themselves–Progressive. Um, no. I still call myself a Liberal. A classic Liberal, as defined in The Oxford English Dictionary. Look it up – if you possess a copy.
Suck on that!
I photoshop her hair red
For this was what she
Was always meant to be
Framing an alabaster face
A picture trapped in a frame
‘She’s a beauty,’they say
A picture that was torn
Down from the gallery wall
By one long gone bitter beau
And they all move in to protect her
One Angel on either side.
they grasp her hand
And lead her away
And, suddenly she is flying
Out of my screen.
MB – the Marxist Revolutionary decided to rip apart other people’s genuine sadness at their loss of a pet.
His first comment – ‘Surely, it had to die sometime’
This was a rather brutal comment to make in the midst of their loss: ‘Surely you knew that cats die?’ NO shit. Sherlock. Later on MB was suggesting that people who were so emotionally effected by the death of a pet should be deprived of their basic democratic rights – ‘It worries me that these people are able to vote’ I responded by writing ‘Yes, because people have feelings’
I was tempted to go on to point out that an absence of feeling is a symptom of sociopathy.
(Which is off because that’s the insult he has a tendency to use indiscriminately.)
He stands out in silhouette
Against the monochrome backdrop
Of the maudlin day. His knuckles whiten
As he clutches the broadsheet closer
Thin, frail, stooped but something-
Some stubborn fragment
Of his former self remains, hidden
In a place that will always be
Remote and inaccessible to me.
Valentines Day is over, over, over. I got a single red rose from my Secret Stalker. (Or maybe it was someone I knew, just to inject some ‘romance’ (P*U*K*E)in my reclusive life style.)
Why do we fall?
Something is going on inside me. I sunk down in the red velvet sofa and sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left inside me. After the choking, gulping, sniffing had stopped and all traces of tears had been washed away, I shut the noises/voices/screams/whispers firmly back into my head again – into that black, velvet box that is locked tightly. That Black Box is full of terrors and fears. In the background the turntable was playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Perhaps that was a mistake.
Pessimism is passive nihilism.
And this anxiety is a noose around my neck