I Belt It On Off

I observed a fight at the bus interchange. I was on my way home to see the kids, knowing that children use language in a unique way. Maybe I read too much, and maybe my impatience with the (technical documentation) words that we are forced to use everyday came pouring out. Slang txt etc. The fight was between the miserable, the words in this piece use the language of misery (and the language of my misery). It all just feeling sort of fell and fit into place.

---

Belt it up
Shed Evil
Bolt it out

He spied and sparred
And she garbage screen
Poked past grassy arse.

As the ole Collien hurled
Grate bisgusting chunky
Cooed shops across the shiny 
Shiny blam trope - hocking
Pop taper tonne littering
Of pater's porter anall.

A pert lager behiny
Groater the fook outer
Heir - fat tum public
Carney horsely nayed.

Tittle molecule of farina.

No! Know! - she snood up
And rip razed her voice
Above the maddening 
Hullabooblue

Fur ounce and four ale
I redact your rulability!!

Spittle spottles of stinking
Nose some vumit moore
Punking the frothy coroners
Play her pale fat lip laps
And hair stinky here
Acrosstobear here polly 
Vinyl boomper tuber
Yam it up slooowly.

Nae mare!
No mas!

Thistle lund of lies
I will sea mineserf outta.
Anshee syncs bang and froth
The seven tweety from 
See Neaulund. 
    So that:

It is always tomorrow.
Zoes forever tomorrow.

Heerslit five foot twine
Old sun leathered woven
Woman sinewy and mean
Nasty straight razor toting.

After walk -
    I rerun house
And askum the kilden
Whoa amongst youse wants
Two wiggle waggle
The pip pop puppy?

A Babble Meant

Like all of us i am surrounded by fools and clowns. as susan sontag once said (more or less) one has to live in post industrial society to understand how seriousness itself can be brought into question. so i ride the bus to work and look over the shoulder of the petty bourgeois and glean little nauseas of the blatant lies and rampant idiocy. which pass for culture and informed political comment these days.


Only follow the link if you are strong of mind and heart

---

The rabble meat of a babble meant
Dub gulch of piers.

I do not know of the where
But whores they, them surly knew.

Craven some lace.

And the face of the troublesome
Tree baroque feigns afar
Over her graby pour lice.

Without warm womb!
Out out damned polis!
Would in fact in feck
Overwhorl with piled to the sky
Hi grime grimm dark for rest dank.

And the poor masta pile themselves
UP up - I have everyting i cuddle
Ever white want one whit why shovel
Eye my hard earned? eh?

To 'elp whelp some urn less auf?

Mark me cross (tele rending cross)
Where is the in da bile do it
Stink say all dat??
All dem dings eh?!?

Sad to Say

Eartha Kitt died on xmas eve
here is an interesting story about her

King of SlabTown

HA! I spend far too much time on the bus - thinking thoughtless thoughts that have no value

---

King of SlabTown
And her gray cat
Pinked up any ode
Dirtee dittie
Cockatwo

And the pear of 'em
As unglee as a mind mud
Fance. Ever holding an
O' be joyful bunket

The king had the shakes
Real Bad...

While the cat consumptive
Was a lunger.

Eris

Looking at the Americans - maybe the nature of women is not to nurture. For what is natural in our sign posted world??

---

Eris - daimona of discord
Winged hunter of battle fields
Delighting in bloodshed
Bathing clean of bloodshed.

Eris - daimona of blood strife
Night daughter and
Drinker of blood
Insatiable.

For her wrath is relentless.

Eris - daimona of blood strife
Bare relentless toil
And forgetfulness.

Jealous Eris hard hearted
Eris delighter after bloodshed
Sister of man slaughtering
Ares who would tarry long
After the battle's end
Rejoicing in blood
Her blood stained hands
Lifting her skirts.

Eris Rise Rice.

Radiant of Magdalena
The death of THE OTHER
Children a price we are
Willing to pay.

Terrible strife the two rivers
Of blood strife stains
We would do it all Again.

And now the new messiah
Eris - let us reign down
Fire and death
Upon the Sudanese.

Sweet sounding song of
Lunatic riser up of strife
Sistren of Ares whose
Viperine hair drips
Imperial Death
Imperiling.

Spirals

• A work in progress.


• Remembering Hamlet.


• As Cpt. B. H. Liddle Hart taught, this is the best way to fight wars.

And I quote

In strategy the longest way round is often the shortest way there; a direct approach to the object exhausts the attacker and hardens the resistance by compression, whereas an indirect approach loosens the defender's hold by upsetting his balance.

---

He walked with the dog in the surprising early summer cool. Il Piccolo della Sera. Venus and Jupiter low in the West. The Western Isles of falling sun, graveyard of the day. The West is the Best.

The silvered crescent moon glowormwaxed a thin piece to all ring of a peace glow. Ice crystals in th'alto atmosphere refracted the reflected light. Photons the Sun to the Moon. Eight minutes for to travel light from Sun to Earth. Massless Celeritas at 299,792,458 metres per Second.

[9]> (format t "~r metres per second" 299792458)
two hundred and ninety-nine million, seven hundred and
ninety-two thousand, four hundred and fifty-eight
metres per second
NIL
[10]>

Ring around the moon. Ring a loop a moony pocket full of lye. Cirrus. Cirro-stratus. Usually coiled. Itsy Wispy Icey White Crystals. Twenty Two Degrees of separation of metasuspension. Nebulas vellum The sparse noble crystals of glassed over hoary ice whorl meth. Tactile musical appendage of Mollusca.

The Dog Dipper Cruxbear. Endemic Priceprince Yucatan Edward Quahog
Island Now Abusive Venusbabie and Jumpier the Eastern Gray Settling
the Western Indirections. Thje wisteria grave isles of the death of
the day.

Dear hund bites her own tail. The dog runs in circles chasing bitenipping tails. Thah dawg circles tree times round afore sleepin'.

Parking Lot

More emo for one and all

---

Voiceless tatters of paper, bits
Of confettied leaves vortext
Across the grim (picture of our future)
Parking lot. Slight mist of dust raised
Brown mixing shattered underfoot drought
Dry grass flowering. Hot - It shall not
Rain, the wind from northwest bays.
My heart is empty. Our lives are empty
Alien. No more, no more, evermore.

Futile. 
        Ugly and futile is this world.

She sighing gulfed away the ice
Melted gin and tonic one desperate
After drunkenness veil of anonymity.

A Spy

This evening there was a conjunction of Venus & Jupiter & the Moon
Making a smiley face - not to be seen in Australia again until 2036
So I thought i would post a poem. This was written on the bus home.
(The source of all grate poetry)

---

She sometimes wished she were dead
Riding on the bus after work
Traveling home, with smashing
Slashing lighting crashing the middle
Distance. The dull twilight of dusk.
Ach! She thought, one can have these
Sentimental cravings, these silly adolescent
Ideas. Fearful of home with her uncaring
Husband and piled bills endless roles
Of cooking cleaning. Maybe she thought
This idea is not so silly after all.
Listening others on the bus, inane
Chatterings of sneezing and sniffing
And coughing on the bus with mobile
Phones and plans for the weekend (plans
She knew went no further than getting
Drunk) Overlistening to them.
She felt like a spy - like a spy
Who wished only simply coldly to die.