Friday, 5 February 2016

The Rule of Circles

There's a madness to this, and that's not a word
I'm comfortable to make
possible. It hurts it falls off myself my shoulder
heaves it off you takes in your
no I will I must listen distractedly moving
back, back and across

everywhere I go for you
retrace the circles. Say you've seen things
had to hold back your eyes hold them tight shut say fuck off to the twilight and sunset
you are less dead than I am
my bones are compressing
I am going around and around in circles
and don't mind. Stay very still.


o cherished vacant. Get to the whizz of it give me something. Company. Eat. Usurp compassion there isn't it's not there in there is a gut a wall in a hole a layer a dead chrome of dope me spasm the these voices now I know what you mean about that fucking song now I want all of their voices ended. Trance the edge of Will is a
No is a
Block is Block is a wound.


who is it who speaks like that one point I thought it was everyone else now I am yeah sure certainty is for shits like us embrace the infinite embrace disorder no that it isn't true change your handling of the situation was inapprop ri r i I are not the i-body i-am-is-institute destroy me generalised hatred a mountain of contrary energies

Wednesday, 3 February 2016

Spreading a Rumour

Whatever you do don't wake up the river
cuts and buffetts the soul. Go across

don't let your eyes fall open with a bang
snap your nostrils shut. A wedding.

Wednesday, 27 January 2016

Trans* Manifesto - As A

To reduce the process of art by trans* subjects to an expression of identity (and the struggle for acceptance and reconciliation) is to alienate the trans* subject from all forms of struggle aside from the expected and legitimised. The same goes for reductions of this type across culture; the culturing of minorities necessarily passes through phases of assimilation. This is the right of passage to culture. This itself - these manifestos. They are well read because they draw on that well of cultural capital. They are seen to produce that voice. That voice is the manner in which one is expected to speak when one is comissioned to, say, "contribute a piece of writing related to your experience as a transgender or differently gendered individual" or "come and give a talk detailing your journey as a transgender person". The qualification is the same qualification one hears on Question Time; "as the husband of a service woman", "as a nurse" or "as a patriotic member of the highland regiment". That voice nervously addresses itself to its audience with the  shudder of a qualification "as a", and it is guarding itself against the confinement it has already been locked into.

A single glob of advice for the curators of lives and experience is that it is revolutionary enough to simply allow marginalised subjects to speak, and if you dare do such a thing dare it against yourself and the trust of any potential audience by destroying any unconcious perimeter fences you've erected in your callout. That or pay us a lot of money so that we can escape for a bit.

Thursday, 21 January 2016

For Sleeping. (anti manifesto, transitional terror).

Last night. I couldn't sleep. I was very glad when I saw you had fallen asleep. And I was very glad when I heard all these eyes closing. Eyes everywhere, falling asleep. And the eyes were over the water. And eye after eye fell silent. And they were counted. and closed, counted and closed, counted abd closed.


Sometimes when I need to sleep I listen to someone's voice, and I reach out to whatever my mind can imagine. Last night. It was an audiobook of the last Sherlock Holmes story. At the end of it there is this: "There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less and a cleaner, better stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.". I lay there and your eyes made a closing sound. And I thought about that bile and all the people it hated. And your eyes snapped back and forth behind their lids: pop, pip,pop,, pip. And then I found an audiobook of Das Kapital. The chapter on the Working Day, where there seemed to be endless floatillas of passages describig women of different ages compacted into agonies and boxes, working themselves dead. No. Not that. Snapping eyes. Being worked to death. Only I wasn't hearing it. It was in my dreams. My eyes had gone. Every dream was thousands of bodies crushed and stamped together. All of us writhing and twitching. Eyes bolt open. It's raining. I don't want to walk with you alone by the sea.


Sometimes the sun is there

when you wake up it goes
into your eyes

a jar of water
a helpless moan  The clamour
is disgusting

you move through
the stations
                      ,  filth

read of it

lie there

not speaking

your failings

siren, flea

shut up. The sun, the sun
never say it

shut up.

Constant clamour.

I become ruthless, depthcharge

heretical blame
chard of flags.

Then go alone
into the sun.


I do not want to walk through this door to stay inside that door to remain out here between them I do not want to have to move I want to see no one I want to be alone I want to see anyone everyone I want my time taken or given back I hate the cold and the heat the scabs and ridges wrists wrists everywhere are wrists I want something back something gone no returning no extending no doors and every door. Sick of sick of what take me away take back my time my agency I want it gone // was born in the wrong body the wrong world its climates can not drop out of. What is the i-body, wait.

& when I am told I have
no enemies something
happens to my blood. My mind.
Surround me
and celebrate
what is there to
do to celebrate.

The broken voices, Jesus...

Friday, 15 January 2016

A Hex, on Social Justice or Another Trans* Manifesto

I've been thinking about the term "social justice", and about divisions and parting,
and about Antiochus IV

Sometimes things seem to fall into your hands, and it isn't a comfortable feeling. Just like this term "social justice", which is chiming in my ears. And thinking of all the magnificent things that are done in the name of justice. The Bulger trial,
Hussein, Fifa, enforced Helenism, the Patriarchs of Triton, the democratic consistency of the Empires, the harmony of the two genders, the two genders etc. Oh yes, and of course
splitting. Principalities. I'm being lost and easy. But there are very few spaces for negotiation. And none of them are safe. If someone tells you that you are entering
a safe space
they might as well be tying a thread around your root around a metal rod and you might just as well put a knife into their face. The introduction of a safe space
has a mirror call it an asylum or a school and you are left there, afraid, and most of the people there are thoroughly kind and good they're going
to protect you. Justice, sanctioning container. Law, begin a hymn to my god I don't want allies
I want accomplices.
I said when I was hungry;
Her sandals caught his eyes
her beauty captured his mind
and the sword slashed his neck.

And we will equalise our
we'll horizontal
our we'll level out the
enacting justice on our enemies. Child molesters, make a warning, abusers, make a warning, trans*phobes, make a warning, IV? A simplified a limb, those who have not
will I be allowed to understand
you warlords of social justice
reconfigured tankies and therapists Let all your Creation serve you.

(I don't want allies. I want accomplices).

Saturday, 5 December 2015

Against Transition - A Trans* Manifesto

In total darkness or in a room that is merely devoid of light for hours and hours repeating the same actions over and over again, unable to detach the interior from the exterior, imagining that you were originally hollow: a hollow body waiting for an object or spirit to come and live in that hollow. These are some coping strategies. Over and over again without a shred of light, moving up and down the walls, performing the same abstractions as if they were concrete. It is not that we hate you it is that we have moved away. It is that we question your use of the word 'agency' and 'choice', it is that we can't work out whether your theology is that of Calvin, Arminius or Molina. And we have our own dark night to walk through and we are understandably quite afraid.
I spoke to a queer on Sunday. I bent down to rub the spit and grit from her head. She said it isn't out of hatred or even apathy, I'm just not sure I want to come to the altar and watch you and your husband do whatever kind of strange ritual it is that I am historically excluded from or worse, forced into. Call it my small act of rebellion. I screamed at her for hours how frantically you may emulate our disorder how never before have things been so I snarled progressive. How you could join yourself to your hip I became very angry and began to spit and kick.
We don't have much left to say on these issues. Everyone's been pushed into such shitty counter-rhythms it's basically useless trying to argue. Just this, just remember this, baby, it isn't a transition it's a fucking apocalypse. So sorry to cause you so much discomfort. 


for a gun, an abortion
for a scan, a lathe
for a pine, fly agaric
for a knot, anew rage.

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

for Syria, from Britain

... "we are not the kind of country that...". None of those arseholes were gunned down or orphaned. Next,  disaproval.
... Britain's:                          
"her"    human rights.
                                & can it be that
                                 , oh yes, the birds and dogs are  quiet
: dawn, for a split second, how can it
           safety && / protect us Lord fr/
           Turn the soft earth over in yr
           Thursday - Sunday at dusk & again
           on the hour like a plough, dying.
(...all over the fucking ground are the unburied
where birds and dogs even the ground wouldn't
take you into it even the chasm of the floor wouldn't
open its tongue for you even your bones are flying.)
                                                                                          I hope those bastards win no
                                                                                          victories exist inside the remit
                                                                                          of annihilation > president Asad
                                                                                          we must support Assad: film ever
                                                                                          action < its consequence is here:


Shoot out of the ground. W/ awesome precision.
These Islamist
women, these shrieking middle
ages, we will turn
from the ground.
                                                       David Cameron's children to be
in this war. That is the right of a war; what you sey in place.
In stead. The target is magical. I love you
                shrieks the my
                British Hero
                my difficult

(agh they suck you out like a dog from its skin if it had an outer casing an exoskeleton,, framework like a spider decomposing in your own self the agh skin catching like on the crater of a boil the skin sucks such commonality is abandoned cccc this never forget a ship sinks it's like it's boiling in the sea as an eruption under the coast under the floor of the ocean but really the ship is being sucked down and contained it is becoming a container of water & air & life not human life as it boils in the water it is destroying human lives it is taking in those that will consume the vestige of human lives it agh is becoming as we are a container of dead matter mine and your mouths containers of dead degrading matter that they tell you new life will emerge from this sinking & containing that nothing can be done that the fang once injected can only liquify you fucking whipped them nothing we're cutting down through the water w/ our arms trying to prize it apart to see if anyone is still alive and to our horror the paint of the ship is gone there is only life and rust even the bones have been deleted. 

So it is when a missile flies down a hole like the arm the moral arm reaching down prizing apart the water uselessly for perhaps just a glimpse of the destructions it is wrought and as the water closes the light closes and opens from its surface. That is the scale I will destroy and prize apart and continue *** and to protect you, sinking lives this is % the ** the ** the *** the **** ** *** ***** ** ****** will to prevent the water closes on yr eyes as you stare up.)

No. There's a stone in my mouth
No. Even the bones. They have gone they have taken out her bones. 
No. We will not just lie in the grass
No. But that is all we did. 

to take. A great gestural clamour in Paris or inside the bus station or: Action against cocaine industries. Every line counts. There is no such thought as an ethical purchase: E.G. Jeremy Corbyn should be dismembred by shrapnel and cum in this conflict:: That is the right of this war to take. To take a difficult decision & run to take to turn
              the soil over &&&& over we to take
              it hurt my eyes & ears to do it
              in solemnity but still
              youth & sympathy
              laser our yr fat hair.
Wake up go
to sleep you
horrible cackling
democratic right.
Next step: if you were to etch out a map
of your conscience it would yield this
heaven of detail:
That in order to understand the universe that's being made every member of the House of Commons should live in a village in the hills, the Cotswolds. And in that village
                      should live also Peter Sutcliffe, Rose West and Robert Thompson, and that the justice secretary
should circle the place in a bomber, and that the murders amongst them should make
them terrified, soil them with fear; their families and loved ones should be there with them too
and that the Justice Secretary's bomber should pinpoint exactly
its targets of moral decay and send missiles and bombs down accordingly.
Those members, on the map of their own conscience should go about freely
and cheerfully knowing
that they are
being protected.
O hear the call CPI or Parsec or BAE or  or or Raphael or or or or cleamncy or or or or or or or or the Occupied Banks or anyone; hear our fucking hideous call for ISIL to put down their barbaric weapons. Help to clean us Lords of comfort & murder. 

& simply can't stop coming back
to this single point; a stone in the mouth

not contained by living, a stone, the bones
are gone, in the neck a stone

lives & dies in the neck, yards & 
stone's love falls silent in the not 

surface of water from beneath y're
staring up  in your mouth, eyes. 

Or convert that poetics into a letter to your MP:

(to Peter Kyle - sent 04.12.2015)
Hello Peter. I am writing to say that what you have done, in voting for air strikes in Syria has led me to feel ashamed and angry. I voted for you, and I encouraged friends to do the same. I voted for you because I felt there was a new surge of energy in the Labour party. What I expect from a labour MP is someone who would resist the horrors the Conservative party are inflicting on our country, and other countries.
You have voted for the bombing of IS targets in Syria. Do you know much about bombs and missiles? Do you realise how loose the target term is? How IS militants are hiding in urban areas? Whether you like it or not, and whatever ideology you have convinced yourself of to be complicit in this action, your choice will mean that innocent people are killed. You are complicit in murder. However right you think you are, you are speaking the language of a murderer. Your mind is the mind of a murderer. Your hands are hands that kill. Do you see? That will be the totality of your logic, and it will be with you forever. Perhaps you have children? One day they will understand what you have done, and they will feel sick. I suppose you're the kind of person who lives in a world of liberal justifications, the greater good etc. Protecting values etc. Well, Peter, I have a suggestion -  a challenge. You and everyone who voted for these airstrikes, along with all your families and friends should move into an urban area where no one else lives. Once you've all settled into your lives we'll send in a small group of murderous bandits who will start terrorising you and your families. They will be armed snd horrible. But fear not. We're going to save you from them. We're going to drop bombs on those bandits. Don't worry. Our bombs are very accurate. Civilian casualties will be minimal. If you are comfortable enough to go through this yourself then I take everything back. Anyway, I guess I'm not the kind of person you want in the Labour party. You probably feel quite disgusted we're breathing the same air. Anyway, best of luck with your sleep pattern. Only joking. I hope you never sleep again. Goodbye cruelties,, I know it's been difficult for you. Happy new Year.
  • What is the order of battle (ORBAT) and military capability of ISIL/DAESH in Syria and Iraq and what tactics and strategy should we employ to confront it?
  • Will airstrikes alone be effective in degrading and defeating DAESH?
  • Do the RAF have the capacity, in terms of equipment and personnel, to sustain or increase the involvement in a campaign of airstrikes against DAESH in Syria?
  • Which ground troops are active in theatre, countering DAESH, which might benefit from UK airstrikes?
  • Is there adequate intelligence to ensure that airstrikes are accurately targeted against DAESH?
  • What would be the impact of deploying UK ground troops?
  • Will military engagement in Syria increase the UK’s ability to broker a political peace process and transition to a democratically-elected representative government?
  • Should the UK engage bilaterally with Iran and Russia on deconfliction if the decision is taken to extend airstrikes into Syria

     Syria, 2014-2015 (and onwards) 

     British Murders 2015

    whip your vile Comrades.