2018 challenge

Sage and future me.. ( Final analysis)

" You’re a GMO seed of breed in my organic garden
Wanting my resources to make it grow (oh hell no)" Sage Francis

A little bit punk rock... ( wall feelers)

Art wood assemblage ( to go forward, one must go through)

Not yet unwound.
Not yet unbound.

Art by Antonio Mora

Quintessentially English part II

Quintessentially English..

Healing Kate.

Million dollar design

To thine own self.. ( the other game) ( Be more Sophia)

Radical selfism. Cutting the junk.

The flaw at this point is care taking : old school child- learned female behaviour; also known as woman junk. It is a distraction from your dreams. It is an excuse to negate the self. MB

Unauthorised entry.

She steals blind
She steals time.
She steals mine. MB

The feel of days.

Down time.

Burning rivers in the night ( The Dragana tales)

There is a crack. A thinned out sliver of a self gone down; broken by lines of transatlantic fury. The hard things that splinter when they break.  Like a moot entry on an empty shelf;  Half-veiled like a cryptic sun reflecting awkward directions. Cords are ripped and frayed. It is a winters day as she finishes up the sorting. But there is a quality of light as life slips wordlessly away. MB

Delaying the inevitable ( unpacking christmas)

These are dark days, enveloped themes too stretched. The world is tight and brittle with threads that break. Too old, too tight, too faded; salt-less and with out taste.  Like food no longer good; essence off it's time and date. I fall down into lost life and dark crimes. Tight old days mean nothing.I cannot hold myself. I have worn away.  MB

Kicked in spaces,..

On the verge of things that won't speak or explain. The creeping gnaw of expectant need. Hacked down by cynicism and forget. She's crossing boundaries. She's forging passes. MB

David the magnificent

“.. Colleges being nothing but grooming schools for the middleclass non-identity which usually finds its perfect expression on the outskirts of the campus in rows of well-to-do houses with lawns and television sets is each living room with everybody looking at the same thing and thinking the same thing at the same time while the Japhies of the world go prowling in the wilderness to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, to find the ecstasy of the stars, to find the dark mysterious secret of the origin of faceless wonderless crapulous civilization…See the whole thing is a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures.”  The world according to Japhy. Dharma Bums by jack Kerouac.

David the Chimpanzee RIP. You are a legend hero magnificent God

The epitome of shit.. ( The Dragana chronicles)

Sucking eastern wounds- feeling.
Death doctors dealing.
She slides in, taking foot and hold and grasps of  skin. Contact.
I'm drowning.
Her need a constant squealing.
Bruised depths need shielding.

My boundaries need squaring.

Odd knots  and shadowed tangles that shoe horn me through the day.

Levelled off .

She gravels in clutching old cuts of flaps in hackled skin.

Churned til I am leathered and bristled by the contact.

The Molten feed-ism; her shriek blasting need-ism.

I am turned slave.Her load a pricely tax .

The heavy feed; that I should tote what you won't carry?
Sucking on my seed-dream?.

No Ms! I won't be your wasted vassal state.

MB

Downstairs neighbours, equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha.. ( All things happen outside Diss)

Woke up safe/sad to leave. Ride to the station, early morning  pret. No veggie brioches, just waiting sun, and a low rise on majestic stone. Window watching  a homeless  man rolling his first cigarette of the day, stretched out, languidly at ease as if in his very own bedroom,  double thickness duvet,  mat-like  beneath him .A dark haired Buddha, strewn and possessed.

No veggie brioches, had to contend with bacon.

Nondescript hotel, plush levels, carpeted floors,  corporate  sign boards lighting the way,  pretend-friendlies with proclaiming hearts , the mass-welcoming of Dr X. We are all the same. Me and the five dwarves- five men and me, all shades of old world and brown crinkly skin. The one with the stiletto moustache, who fought in Sadam's army; the quiet African and  the geriatric imp-twins, white haired nostrils and ears,  riotous, emphatic out-liers,. All but one-  the new friend who carried my colours  while I battled  the potbellied trainer/intruder; he  and his  " weak women and strong men". Nobody blinked  till I spoke. Female Challenger charging his white bellied certainty as it hung over his belt; mock bearded privilege stretching  all the way to his power point. This is 2018 for God sake! After, when it was over, after the heat had been shed and the blood had been spilt, reflected on, fed back and rated; new friend took me to the bus stop, called me a tourist, and  put me on the no 10. Oxford street, where on certain days  experience means more than flimsy shoes, and those experiences lead to a sun trap  by the sea; except it wasn't sea, it was swans and ice-creams wrapped   in bright smiles and peddleboats; and an enthusiastic engineering German, who said he like the way I read; kerouac on a suit case, or was it the way I sat?. " I need something like that" he said. I suggested Hot Yoga..But clocks  rang, all the way to the top of the park, past the woman of the stripped top and  brown wedged shoes, the  very one  I'd seen  earlier on in the day in a city of how many millions? This was more than speed and lights and suitcase pulling, even as I made it to  the track and gave my dinner away, all the while  waiting for a little magic train that  was losing it's  way. MB

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