posted on March 23, 2007 at 7:34 pm

the multiverse
everything moving at once
all history a simultaneous fiction
all going on together
this is the beings gift and his punishment
i cant stop it
i cant stop it happening
i cant stop it happening to me
as the waves unfold themselves across this lake
i see the patterns
i see the connection
i cant tell you what it is
there are no words for it
sometimes you see trees moving in the wind
the leaves are pixels away from a totally pointilistic scramble
look at the rooftops
i can see the prana coiling there
rising like a heat haze
i feel the words all lined up in my mind
huge chunks of prose appear in my mind fully formed
my muse keeps sending me stuff
i do more and more yoga
my muse becomes clearer and clearer
she says do something perfect
she says bye bye baby come back soon
anytime anyhow anywhere
and i type type type
choosing the symbols n spaces
trying to turn you on so hard
writing about writing
this flood of disinformation
nothing is real n nothing matters
but then howcome it hurts?
everything so so simple
its so easy
ah six deep easy breaths
somedays i feel so lucky
living this life like this
i see my daughters
the line of their necks n jaws
their straight backs
their melodious voices
this is real success
the warm weather holds me
a delicious breeze wafts thru the house
from sunroom to kitchen cool fingers of air
theres a tibetan guy next door and each morning n evening
he burns such lovely incense in his garden
his lovely garden with its white flowers and elephant gods n buddhas
birdies go tweet tweet tweet
i swim n i do some work
but this work aint work
and i feel lucky
and i appreciate my freedom
and i do wish it could be like this for you too
because sitting in an office
under those ‘orrible lights
staring at a computer for hours n hours
is not what this earth n life are for
someone telling ya what to do
bring me this file
reconcile these books
deliver these sprockets
stack those cans
fetch those tiles
finish your report
report to the main entrance
dig that hole
cook that soup
drive that cab (hi glenny n georgie)
bang in that nail
polish those nails
check out that client
stay back late
come in early
better do some work on saturday too
like my dadd-o
always worked till 3 on saturday
but something must be wrong with me
i say to myself very early on
steven… thing…its not good for us
i say to myself
yes i concur ;must avoid this thing called work
and then i was always disappointed
when my mum n dad
and my numerous uncles n aunties
couldnt understand that my incipient geniushood
meant to me at least
i should be spared from working
but all these post war pommies
they were all obsessed by work
talk about protestant work ethic
the best thing you could say about some geezer
was that he was a hard worker
you never heard em say that someone was a great poet
or that he had prose dripping from his fingers day n night
you never heard em say
well that little steven hes lazy but hes loaded with charisma
i bet he’ll grow up n chart the empty places with music
the fifties were slim pickings for us proto hippies
my auntie lou didnt fucking care about rimbaud or dylan thomas
she wanted you to wash behind yer ears
take yer shoes off
which actually meant
being some kinda thing i was never meant to be
and all my nascent utterings were deemed cheeky
people seemed angry with me right from the word go
and i can understand it
i wanted to get away from myself the moment i could think
(hence the gear)
i was just too much
i was all over the shop
a smartarse little freckle faced spoilt brat
believe it or not…
(t.t.b. subscribers : oh we can believe it !)
but then my auntie may treated me differently
i know i told ya about her
she treated me the way i thought i deserved to be treated
i mean she didnt let me get away with any old malarkey
she wasnt a pushover by any means
but she talked to me
and she listened to me
and she listened to my questions
and she tried to explain
oh i thought she was so glamourous
with her jet black hair n bright red lipstick
to me she was so hollywood
and she told me she was 21
but she was probably nearer to my age now
her husband norm was a carpenter
and they lived in a commission house
but to me aunty may was the bees knees
a dreamy lady
a lady who loved films n musicals
and she took me seriously
she could see me as i am now i swear
oh how the man ached
trapped inside the boy
aunty may was always swallowing these powders
for her “headaches”
and then having a “lie down”
this was usually every day
i have sinced learned that these powders
vincents a.p.c i think they may have been called
contained heavy barbituates and/or opioids
and were totally n viciously addictive
although the ladies who took em didnt probably understand
what was happoening to em…
i mean
it was cheap n legal
you could buy these things at the local shop
and she ripped open a packet
there was like 10 in a box
and there was this white powder
and shed lift it up
n swallow it down
followed by a glass of water
and id say doesnt it taste ‘orrible
and shed say yeah
but also a slight kinda satisfied smile too
and there you go
is that why aunty may was so dreamy
and she had her laydowns in her cool green darkened bedroom
and she had a dolly on her bed too
aunty may had 2 grown up sons of her own
but she made me feel like her no. 3
and i slept next to her every afternoon
and then we’d get up
while she made dinner
and we waited for les n joyce to come n pick me up afterwork
my favourite was tomato soup with buttered bread
as a child i was always looking for those adults who could understand
but in those days it wasnt like now
they werent encouraging individuality back then
believe me

i got my shipment of fruit machine
essays on rock
my new book
its only short
28 pages or so
im gonna be selling it on cherch murch
and at a show near you soon
graham nunn
the head of the sk poetry steering committee
was the prime mover behind this one
and we do must humbly thank him
for having caused it to happen
its basically a 28 page stream o sub-consciousness
my ramblings on rocknroll
in which i seem to target such unlikely villains
as elo
and guys with keith richards hair-dos
its written a la this very blogge
which has now given me a dependable n recognizable device
to hide behind
so from no on
i can bang stuff out
with no punctuation
no paragraphs
and go
well thats what i do!
still i reckon you’ll enjoy fruit machine
itll probably be a text book in years to come
how many rockers do ya know
who can write about rock as well
there aint that many
ian hunters book…
oooh you should find that
thats a great book
diary of a rocknroll star…wow!
you read that and youve almost done it yerself
even before i almost did do it myself
i felt that by reading ians book
i understood what it was like
touring the states
not all beer n skittles
refreshingly candid
go on
get one on amazon
david bowies in it n everything
so i gotta go now
gotta enjoy my saturday
if i can….

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