posted on June 25, 2013 at 10:32 pm
triumph herald the angels sing

triumph herald the angels sing

write something nice

the gallery demanded

so i searched through the storm for the usual debris

give us an ‘ero

give us a villain

give us a bit o’ the ole one-two-three

well the hero is everyman

the villain is no one

no one that is if it isnt me

and everyman here

who arrived with his angel

everyman who watcheth us all on teevee

the strings in crescendo

that tug at your harness

the clever words have made you quite dumb

the jury appears

thinking you witless

they summon some clown who never can come

sooth my apparel is vulgar and tasteless

then my demeanour is thunder by thumb

in linked sequences of arabesque dancers

the same old shriek and cackle wind scum

they swerve off

to their side of the dessert

the jerk off at the soda numb

the storm strides over the

sea like a titan

the storm moves through the thieves in the night

in permanent dwellings of memory dreams

with bob in Tamarama all white

with delicate chains our bodies constrain us

until you know one day they just snap

and off you go to the wildest blue yonder

yeah

or something like that

 

 

RIP bob 1954 2013

 

 

 

12 Responses to “stormy tuesdays”

  1. avatar
    Kohl Ette | 26 June 2013 at 12:04 am #

    tres shiek
    in arabesque
    and softest
    sandal shoon
    alas can it soothe
    the loss of a man
    precious bob
    from our mob
    smooth riptides
    and rapids?

  2. avatar
    Oyoy | 26 June 2013 at 8:05 am #

    RIP Bob – premature departure.
    Wake up call for ’54ers. Carpe diem!

  3. avatar
    veleska1970 | 27 June 2013 at 7:31 am #

    **hugs**

  4. avatar
    Anonymous | 27 June 2013 at 9:31 pm #

    truly beautiful writing

  5. avatar
    Anonymous | 27 June 2013 at 9:37 pm #

    I’m sorry, this is way off topic but maybe a bit of brightness is a good thing.

    I stumbled on a comment under one of the youtube versions of UTMW.

    It nails it.

    “There are good songs written every year. You nod when you hear them, and turn up the volume a little, smiling to yourself. But then, only several times in a lifetime, there are great songs. And those songs create a permanent stain in your memory and on your soul. You can never forget these great songs, and where you were when you began to love them. This, friends, is a great song.”

  6. avatar
    Chris | 27 June 2013 at 11:41 pm #

    RIP Bob.

    20th c. Buzzes and Fades is total Gold….love the gritty ‘point of view’ doco style. The live concert footage is awesome….has a real ‘like you were there’ feel. 10 times better than Sound City as a doco. As for the hack from Malady Maker….honi soit qui mal y pense….

  7. avatar
    Anonymous | 28 June 2013 at 1:59 am #

    Who is Bob?

  8. avatar
    Anonymous | 29 June 2013 at 5:57 am #

    Chap, have you heard My Solid Ground? 1971 and trippy as fuck.

  9. avatar
    Anonymous | 29 June 2013 at 8:30 am #

    Do you know when a dream feels like the deeper continuation of reality? But still with some of reality’s bitter shallowness? Like an image in HD perforating a muddy VHS recording. You keep waking up trying to pick up its vapour, trying to be wrapped around it but you fail and fall inside of it over and over again. And more layers of pale comprehension entwined with hard vagueness keep jumping at your face like layers of water when you’re drowning.
    You were walking with me over the crazy baroque black and white paving, the narrow dirty streets, full of leaves leaves everywhere, small and big, yellow and brown, but never green, we were walking fast and faster as if we were late but I could never see what was ahead for there was only a dense fog. However I was not scarred or even trying to see anything, the fog was pleasant and cool and angelically white and then there were those dark types with such brute features and rude skin, humble servants of a massacred, empty and coward middle class, standing in front of sumptuous art-déco buildings which looked like anomalies in such murky streets, like beautiful embroideries for a rotten organism. One of them particular characters stared at you as if you were some kind of saviour and you looked back at him with a radiant smile and you turned to look at me and without saying anything you said it all, you said “I’m finally here” and I felt like you, I could feel the experience as If I was you, a foreigner finding it all so clumsy but amazing and yet so strange. Maybe it was because I feel so strange here, so dislocated and out of place. Always. But that mistreated fat guy, so misled, so smashed by life’s turndowns, wearing a ridiculous uniform, so hopeless and lonely as he played the useless guardian of a silly building which wanted to feel like a palace protecting equally silly and fearful families, made us feel sheer complicity in the lost city. It was not a simple fog then. It was the smoke from a choir of simple men who loved their lives and the passers-by in the boiling big plan where they weren’t included.
    And we were talking, passing strangers fading secrets time goes time goes by too soon. My strange reality was your reality and it didn’t feel strange. At all.


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