IWD

Next year marks 100 years of International Woman's Day. The text of the poster says:


"8th of March is the day of rebellion of the working women against kitchen slavery
and "Down with the oppression and narrow-mindedness of household work!".


From a recent report by Australian Bureau of Statistics:

The Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) figures show that while woman have taken on more paid work, they still do about two thirds of the housework, while men do two-thirds of paid work.


or as was written in 1844

"The change in a historical epoch can always be determined by women's progress towards freedom, because here, in the relation of woman to man, of the weak to the strong, the victory of human nature over brutality is most evident. The degree of emancipation of woman is the natural measure of general emancipation."

From the Sydney Morning Herald today:


In a separate study by the Inter-Parliamentary Union, Australia lags behind countries including Rwanda, Sweden and Cuba and is on a par with Afghanistan, coming an equal 32 in the percentage of women holding lower house or single house seats in parliament.

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Soft Blue

the bus the botanic gardens the recent rain. and sum idears i have bean kinking around - a type of cinematic flatness & the multiplicity of aspects. the object alone.

---

The unschooled children squeal in delight
At the copper tarnished eastern water dragon.
Intent on observation she splashed the water.
After recent rains the plants green riot grow.
Piecring sun absorbing new green growth colour.
Yellow tinted spreading open simple rules,
Red shading around the edges, best for acute
Angles of twilight morning evening. A leaf falls
Mute on the floor of the elevator. Rich, almost
Indescribable, green the listless shiny shoe gray
Invested carpet. One single leaf repose.
And the bus stopped and three passengers got off.
One young man boarded. Endwise of three passengers
Bump jostled shoulders the novice. And turned sudden
In anger, greasy dirty look thrust, knife quick flash.
Mournful mother her face away in sorrow
Eyes open of prominent tears and trouble.
Flat white clouds too thin to puzzle the sun.
Hooded long hair. A nod and sits. Did you seee that?
Flowers rising from ocean flows of comet chaos.
Howled kitchen faults across a wall, grappled Da.
I told him to get off me. To get off. You fat fuck
I said, and he kept wailing on me. I had my knife.
Brightly coloured rags of commerce flutter red yellow
Green beads of water on the blades of grass blue.
Terrible as an army with banners. Mist shrouds the gully
A place gray of shadows and damp quiet darkness.
Triangle torso scratched into the burnt brick wall.
Acquitted. Mental problems. Could not remember.
Damp down gully, childhood prophecy episode.
And it was five months fuck around with remand and bail.
In the end I got off. The old man slouches makes himself
All homewise and invisible wholesome chews around
Poured aggregation canyons of efficiency.
It was the style. A grammar of disturbance.
At the time. Fought in the kitchen. I took my knife
Out its hollow. If you do not get off; let me leave,
I will open this. Stick it in your gut. He backed away.
Tales of chemicals prescribed and street bought.
So they called the cops and I had to go to that place
Behind the old library every week, it was...
Near the old school? No the other face. Oh yes I know.
Had to do a pee test every week. For six months, I had to...
What, for drugs? Saluting feeding the beggar birds
Two buskers play guitar, a fountain, fast food
Cooking, cigarettes, short denim pants. The old woman
Drags her tartan sundry trolley and curses, the old
Man uses his cane to activate the traffic lights.
Tried it the once, it was too intense, I gotta go...

The Grammar of the Lotus

Came across this book when i was in the local library, and i just loved the name. The Grammar of the Lotus: a New History of Classic Ornament as a Development of Sun Worship.

Written by William Henry Goodyear (1846 - 1923)

London: Sampson Low, Marston, 1891.

It was easy enough to find. http://www.archive.org/

Enjoy!

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Forest Of Error

wrote this a while ago, at least two years ago. for a project which was alas absconded. so out of a perverse sense of fun i 'ave maria druggt it outta those jaws of dem serial mice, and 'ave plug plonkt it down here for all to enjoy

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Halfway through this the journey of our century
I found I was estranged my way
Hard against a misty wood glum
I stumbled slumbering

Not with God
Or angels or daemons or 
Satan or magick or Buddha
Or Yoga or Zimmermann

    The wind sang to me...
    With Avarice has
        No one a painted
        Paradise

Not for their eye nor heart
Nor mind nor soul

    CONTRA NATURA

Corpses alone
Are brought to banquet
With Avarice

And all along the wide 
Fine road is now over 
Grown darling buds 

Vampirism
Chewers of Flesh
Gnawers of Bone
Dispensers of Life & Death

They mock and flog
    The OTHER

And i am all alone in
This spreading oscura
Alone this wide cold
Universe of nothing
But nothing - endless
Cycles of Nothing

Houses of whores
    Of pink brick 
    Golf course roos false
    Collanades & meat four
    Times a day (or more!)

Out with piggy wives
Clutching forks and knifes
To eat their bacon

    And 51% of people
    Surveyed are not wiling
    To pay any more than 
    A tenner a month

Never gets any better than this
This is as good as it gets

Ratcuntprickdog
Costellohowardr
Uddbushblairpu
Tinpalin

And they wonder why
The young have no 
Respect

Wars and rumors of wars
Matthew 24:6
And the blood up lust 
Of the non combatant


    And i am alone
    This spreading wood
    Of mine olde 
    Glum gloom

        And the wood dissolves
        And i stand at the gate
        Of a great city

At this great city
Stinking already of
    Greed and Death.

The Aboot

The scarab is the rising sun.
As WSB says - once one becomes one whose head expands, and the cut up method is applied directly to brain, den furniture summer times comes earl well gushing wise inn. dissa one was ywrit served a copra yearns ago. agony, and now seams more kneaded.

---

Abort the abbot about NOW.

The internal interval of the integral
Integer (digit insertion) --

And how bored bone she stood stand
Stock drip drab still earing
A fainting swooning swan lub dub
From the Lord Kelvin plutocrat
FROM HELL
Or this pitter patter of
FATHER


Debilitatingly boren
Abound a browned
Boreal forest of
Bubbling methane bog
Tyger sorrel soup sup
Orbit
Obit
Mob gym gun dodo doco
Spinish dock DUCK.


My stoma ache
Be horn dance piping
The hokey pokey
And my nik nak neck
She be cloak clocked.

Transition

My attempt to create a materialist mysticism.

---

As the flaming embers of the roaring
Fire burn and rise high in the air
Tumbling and panicking before the storm.
Caught within the uprising vortex
Gyre and gimble mass of heated air.
High into the air, drifting without
Reason, without instinct, caught
In the wild battering chaos.
And then long away in another time
Unknown to the roaring fire flames
Storm, the ember falls, flutters 
To the ground. Falling onto the right
Conditions, the tinderbox of dried
Out dessication, igniting, 
Flames dancing. Even so do the ideas
Of the lost, dead, burnt books flutter
Fragments and half contextualised 
Critiques of second hand hearsay 
Across the generations to flame
The old errors into new growth.
Like the singed leaves, the smoldering
Strips of bark fall onto the slopes
Of watered hills, even so do the half 
Forgotten ideas fall, fertilising
The rich soil of enquiring. 

A body of matter cannot disappear completely. 
It only changes its form, condition, composition, 
Color and other properties and turns into 
A different complex 
Or elementary matter.

Summer Hot Heat

On the shore seashore
Where ancient tetrapods roamed
Age old dreams explored
Wet sand drips her hands

Sea side towers of Narragansett
Minarets of Kialoa
Extraordinary lines rise the foam
Unutterable song lines rise the foam

At the dawn of Western Literature (i)
A woman; worse than death, brings labour into the world
Eternal Eve at the mouth of Hell lies spread legg'd
And screaming bringing forth endless sinners.

At the dawn of Western Literature
The gods petty and childish made her
A commodity to be passed around
Guilt, Wrath, sexual abuse at the first.

On the shore seashore
The rolling endless waves splashed
Destroyed her tower
Rising tears broke forth her eyes.

And these same waves crashed
Beaches of Viet Nam
Of Papua, Malaysia, Korea
Timor and Borneo.

i)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_literature#Classical_Antiquity
Ancient Greek society placed considerable emphasis upon
literature. Many authors consider the western literary tradition to
have begun with the epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey, which remain giants in the literary canon for their skillful and vivid depictions of war and peace, honor and disgrace, love and hatred.