Thank you cancer

Thank you cancer

Thank you cancer

for turning my father from a bloated man

to a bloated corpse

before he could drop another vote

for averting one great sin of a father

that could be visited upon this son

for giving me one less link of DNA to that ocean of hate

to those minstrel shows he would perform for the family

drawing characters from the humans who had to work under him in hot warehouses

or the lectures about how climate impacts culture

or how the dark people breed so much and care not for their children

or never punishing me for saying ‘niggers and spics’

but punishing me for smoking pot

Without cancer all of that hatred would still produce karma on me

thank you cancer for exploding out of his white bones and tearing through his white skin

for turning his chest of hatred into a mouldy mass of black cottage cheese

for a little justice with execution

and please, dear beloved cancer

work rapidly to clear more of these monsters

i offer my own body to you

if you can clear North America of the white master race

Photos from Bob Hooker's art show Summer 2016

Dear UKIP

Dear UKIP

This morning the short girl from Naples who works at the café I go to came back from some vacation or something.  I don't know where she was.  I might have a crush on her, its hard to tell. 

When I saw her I said, with a smile:

'O Sole Mia'

The song that ice cream truck driven by the old Cypriot Greek plays day in and day out when its warm in London.  As the globe warms I hear it more and more. And she smiled, really smiled like she was about to laugh a good laugh.

And then I was a bit taken with myself having flirted in the Naples dialect with an Italian, and then I felt like a silly old man having been taken with myself for having flirted in the Naples dialect with an Italian, and then I felt kind of touched by myself feeling like a silly old man who I flirted with a pretty short young Italian girl. It goes on and on.

But my question for UKIP, for the BNP and for everyone who voted BREXIT really, precisely what evil did I do flirting in Italian in London to a young short Italian who is too young and too short for me?  What crimes did she carry in those tight black pants, darting around the crowded café cleaning up after lazy people trying to hide from the terrible sun of global warming?

Why is it that people who share the same sun can't share London, when the sun is brutal and angry with us?

The great threat of boredom

England where I live, used to be a very nice place.  Free healthcare, low crime, people got along.

That what back during the Labour years, up till and even through Iraq.  People protested Iraq in a good natured civil way, kind of a carnival really.

Then came the last 5 years, especially the last year; essentially the age of Eton, and since that time I have seen everything rapidly falling apart.

People now openly hate each other,  they are talking about ending Notting Hill Carnival, the Prime Minister essentially rules as a South American dictator.  The nation is become mean, even the left is now scary.  I mean if you change from Labour to Tory you might sell your soul, but no one is going to threaten your life for opposing the current leader.

Over the ocean, it calls as it has called people tired of  England for centuries: Spain and Italy, insanity infused with joy, violence with blood.  You call me in my sleep, you have not yet fallen like old England to the fascist poison of boredom.

Pictures from my second show in 2016

 

Maybe, just maybe it was too busy but I had lots of fun and sold some work.  Now they put me in the window by the way.  I am her showing my evolving masterpiece.

The book folds out into a long scroll.

The scroll shows the history of the universe, well my history of the Universe.  As you can see I am covered in two shirts of books I have made.

Me showing the scroll at an earlier show.

And me showing the piece earlier, I am still working on it and how to show it publically early next year. 

My most recent show in Brick Lane Gallery, fun

Brilliant crowd,  I will have to remember to link to artists.  You can see me showing my passports, an ongoing project where I make passports.

Thank you Amoke for representing my work, especially showing the passports.  Found her at the last minute, she did greater than great, and did work in French as well!

Brick Lane London is the place to be for the EU's art scene might I say, and I am very lucky because of a great support team from my wife to be showing where art is happening. 

Somebody takes a picture of my work

And the picture closest to us, the one under the Liz Taylor picture sold.  This is my third show and I have already made 5 sales so I have been pretty happy with that.

Wonderful new friends from Singapore we had the pleasure to meet on a train in Belgium. 

Hungry TV

Amsterdam, in the cursed year of Satan, 2000 and 6 and 10
Standing in front of a rad light whore's pen
Kind of  sorry place
a sexual world with love's grace
where women put their bodies on a plate
clearly there for us to contemplate
But she, heavy, tanned American
like every other citizen
Stands there looking through a tiny screen
I bet she's only nineteen
But already she has forgotten how to be
a person in reality
a TV set is all she knows
and life is just a set of shows
she films her way through her Europe tour
and now she's filming a sad desperate whore
Its all just proof against the truth
that that stupid phone ate her entire youth