Thursday, 14 November 2013

From a Call(ish)

The first couple of lines of this were written in collaboration with Robert Kiely. Daniel Spicer was present in the document for a while.

Here’s a rusk, baby. I like you!! It is reciprocated. Off I go. x       a
thanks and tara. xx

sing with me Isis sing with me Spektor sing with me Winston sing with me Monad sting with me
Russell hunt with my chopper sing with me Katie Hopkins us with me Twerk twerk star of
us singstar star on us Isis honourary Pecting with me sing green the rushes ugh sing ugh
ugh with me ugh ugh o computer boys sing with me foam party pundit raptured to a manifest
body spirit and soul bullshit soul shit in lake in poem language shit and sting with me sister
of Neptune’s flagrant wanking MS doc singer songwriter balloon confection massed
populist flarf gabbers sing with me cthylla daughter of cthulu car pooling motherfuckers
sing of the Lindsay stars sing with me Spicer pour over me waters of daughters of Cthylla
songs sing without raptures work makes me volatile to astrictive limit love with me
stupid town of my <3 <3 sing with me stamner crock of catheter soul with signing us suck
of balloon bile I saw gently prynne with me Isis skim in the lizard’s fire skip to the duct
where a patient ward-waltzes trapped in the catheter stage of teenage love examination and
as she pulls up to the window stares down to amassed cars, curls up by amassed windows
to the hospital’s confection, edges of increased neon hospital lamps, lactic as you like
stays steady in the front stage of mourning the hospital sleeps in drips of lactic light as
you stay steadied by amassed cars and call songs sing to me spirits / Isis-grunt
scronk over to the bed. Sit down my love. Can you hear me my love. I want you
to know that everything’s going to be a-okay (oh fuck) my love. Hello? Can you
(oh useless) do you love me my love. bleep in quick steadies flat again bleep again (oh oh!)
hello? my love? do you love me my love before it’s (oh too late - dead - flat… hang about
… bleep) still there then. still hanging in there like a proper little trooper my love
child. rats rats rats eh? okay then wait is that a flat line again okay i’ll just be hanging
up my coat, rolling up the paper and heading out of the room, phew. little hand
soap. antiseptic. alcohols. oh wait. bleep. fuck sake. can you hear me my love? is that
a book you’ve been reading? shall i read it to you? okay: ‘here here dead dead church
falls by rote is the direction of your eye to me  me sing *bleep*’ jesus how long you
hanging about this neck around neck so long sucker no wait there’s that … wait she’s
not coming back is she. doctor  want an honest well not honest but you know what i
sing Isis sing dark’s slash away at such remarks sparks fall from lactic lights wait who are
you in this bed anyways not my love or thing or you awake can you hear me my love
lights and stands in lactic dross by the corporeal damage scatters. graph graph. god. need
to go to buy sudocrem soon when will she snap out god just cleanse in minimal altruism
need it a formal labour crossing doctor doctor i feel like a victim of the current and usual
conditions of living. of fuck off will you i’m trying to *bleep* out of my control so there
shove it where it hurts her every time the bell strikes for the end of visiting time don’t
you listen this is inside north tower royal sussex hospital at 2.23 pm and you shouldn’t
even be here who is my daughter talking to when i’m not about is it the polycyst i knew
we should have kept an eye on that stuff my love my love move your mouth for me little
stars wink under the peripheral don’t you know oh go to heck it something more substantial
for my daughter day is a dream in the pitch of the room she streaks fuck. they. streaks.
them. hen. they are my child no not posessing and that see this is me i want to try to understand
all that stuff they’ve been telling her down at the college du polycyst used to be a caaaaaraar
y’know it al =’s in the eyes of gawd when you going not a penny to yer name a price bastad
little brackets everywhere little cock little panties all made used to be a car cararar used
TW all make senses senses purring like a lactic lamp in lifeless love and feigning reasonable
vigour this is the mark of the time and the rain smatts onto slats in my plaits you dumb twats
ad your prats in spats over scraps and fap faps having craps to collapse in an email elapsed
time. hmm. not a pleasant thought but a cusp of one morning i woke up this child of mine
in a crash helmet wrapped neck in a strip of ribbon making barking noises watching an episode
of Katie Hopkins in a massive can can firework ISIS loop and what was the 23 big in black
letters one for each breast and bollock that kinda thing throws me off cos I’m a man of my time
and my time is NEVER NEVER now is the time of the children of Bodom of of Isisisisis cornered
sing with me now.

Dear Frank

when did i last see you it was at that poetry thing
i felt so stupid. i shouldn't really have been there
rosy does me a lot of favours. but anyway, the thing
that i read from that night was called 'the flesh
called fwan'. it was a long collaboration. i thought
people might find it funny. there's a really precious
level of expectancy around these things though. from
                                                                    each angle.

i'm sorry to hear you've been getting pissed off with all those marxists. they can be infuriating. i spent a while this morning reading responses from friends and acquaintances about a conference they recently went to. all this venom spewing back and forth. i don't think a lot of them can countenance the idea of what it looks like from outside the academy. i know i couldn't. i still can't. i'm a little jaded and fooling myself. i'm listening to the most terrible music just now. do you know the band m83? i heard them when i was a teenager and thought they were kind of monumental. they sounds so clean like polished diamonds. i think the thing is
failure again. ambitions are set out like fucking
huge hollow pillars and the manifest thoughts
are just untame birds very hard
to care for these structures / replacements
i like writing to people. since my application was rejected
i've had to have a little think about what to do with everything and my writing has changed a lot. i'm glad of that. it's making me laugh again. oh wait, ban that. what are you reading these days? how's the whole thing treating you? we have to think about jobs too. being an academic marxist is a career choice. i'll probably get some snotty emails, or have some snotty emails written about me for saying that. but it's true. i've spent a lot of tappering on 'career poets', but really all these critic/poets are careerists too. we are all looking for careers. or at least jobs. that's too screwingly obvious. but part of the career path we're talking about is the kind of career where you are employed for your critical capabilities. that's an odd position to be in. 'your job is to say more or less what you want about the current conditions. so long as you stay in employment'. i don't really know what i think, but i know that a year ago i would be rushing to the defense of the people you are attacking. now i'm really unable to do that without feeling quite hollow and wrong. what about this too.

signal ---- signals.     & & helplines pause to
remunerate    costly       ) and advantage is
   pressed in the hand   / lawyer lawyers of
____choose signals ---- break up the light form
fingers as i choke //// on sex     to growl groooowl

so we can helplines to ring we can listen to these smartvoice, dear frank, but hell boils. what doesn't bother you makes...

oh i dunno really. i've got all these catalogues for children's clothes and toys. all pc and yummy. there's nothing good in there though. i'm going to the big boots in town (the one by the clocktower). that place is great. i'll cover myself in all the perfume!

choo choo! xx