Thursday, 28 July 2016

Reading is the fundemental practice of being.

My point is simple, in reading we are distilling the most basic practice of existing as a conscious being in a strange reality.

We don't understand time, but we have an emerging idea that we live in a massive stateless blog, but that the reality behind this 3D blob is a 2D reality of information.  That the 3D universe we experience is the casting of this 2D universe.

That we experience of flow of time through a pre-existing blog of the Universe.  That this flow of time comes about via line of entropy.

And what is a book?

A book is a 3D object, a block of reality.

But what is the subjective reality of a book, what is reading.

We confront a 3D block that exists and find that at core its 'reality' is really a 2D surface.  That each of us in our own imagination constructs a 3D world via exposure to this 2D surface, one that flows in a direction of broken bindings, torn pages, yellowing pages, and coffee spills.  A book will only take so many readings, many of my favourite books are falling apart.

So is not reading enacting in a mindful state the fundamental reality of being?

Friday, 15 July 2016

Reflections on London after Brexit

Since that time
every day
I have turned my face away
hidden behind paper masks of fools
now suddenly we are machines marchining
our hearts our cut away
of what a terrible ugliness is aborted
what a long history is suddenly distorted

Its now the age of the impotent man
who looks at the Italian or Polish beauty with lust for beer and sport
the smell of death is everywhere now
right, left, above, below
the panic is creeping in now
even inside the old english cow
the pram pushing sow
and it make one wonder how
the fascist face of this place
was hidden up to now

English is the summer is ugly
the endless rain
causes me tooth pain
it hurts my lovers back

but now the thing you see
is the fear
everywhere the fear
don't use a black cab with a white driver
don't go inside a rough looking pub
whisper to the girl who sell you pickles
that she is welcome here
my god its like the nazis finally got here

Fuck it all
it might not be safe to say
in girl blood soaked england today
that I love the hard work honest family here have done
and I want them all to stay.

I hate you now London like I never hated any face before

Monday, 4 July 2016


Oh famine's revenge, burning
Red Box
Oh flag of George
Catholic Saint
Of flags of red and white
oh menstrual rage
line of red running down junkies inner thigh
of cotton ball stuck up the nose
of old Island of Shakespeare

oh teeth dust
oh grinding glass
oh synthetic white shirt
oh pints and pints and pints

where has she gone
where has the green island gone
where has the land of swords
where has Author gone lost

oh tissue
of aborted futures
of struggles for noses
of strong pulses
of blind sexually charged cars