Some people have little or no conception.
They are too removed from the physicality
of the knife going in. The twist or not,
if one is lucky; the bottle flailing stage left,
the fragment of glass in the corner of one
eye. They have no experience of the lust
to damage; maim; injure with blade. Stone.
Such creatures,
they feed and exist in a pretty cul-de-sac built
on crutches. Stumps. At a distance.
Where were you when they hammered in
the nail ? Where were you when Lazarus rose
to sit idle and brain dead in the sun ?
Sunday painters. Dismantlers of tertiary colour
tied up in a bow.
I wish I had your lukewarm appreciation for
zip, tat. The nothingness of bilge and cackle.
As it is. I sit and bang at the keys with one finger.
I am bitter as a paper bag of limes. Lemons.
Rind and pulp, dyspeptic acid. Carapuces
and crustaceans washed out on a single white
sheet.
I do not believe I appreciate the taste of you.
I don't think I'm familiar with the smell of you at all.
It takes much to penetrate my hard of hearing.
It takes plenty to buckle down and man the quiet
way in.
I believe in salt, seed, weed. The labour to spoil.
That is my working. That is my crease.
That is my reason to break into a run or rapture.
You had better be quick
to explain your myopia.
6 comments:
'Where was I when they hammered in
the nail ? Where was I when Lazarus rose to sit idle and brain dead in the sun ?'
Why, I was in Las Vegas, of course.
(The Residents - The King & Eye:RMX)
keep it comin Ib. don't get all of it but a file run of posts here and the musical bits are great too. and for jaysus sake man keep yer pecker up - sure you have the beating of Scotland by Ireland to look forward to this weekend.
"bright light city gonna set my soul on fire..."
Thanks for the remix.
Anto:
Well. I don't really get all of it, either. And. What seems fine at 7:09 PM invariably looks like so mush shit half an hour later.
Still. Better out than in, as they say.
Let's just see what happens on the weekend fixture.
Darkly enjoyable. Pervert that I am.
Maybe I suffer too many narrow escapes and the memories of those who didn't.
I admit I was fleetingly cranky. The words fell out in the space of twenty minutes or so. Just as daylight began to fail.
I didn't feel much like amending it.
Shortly after I hit the publish button, the kids involved themselves in an explosive argument which ended in blows. It escalated to include the adults joining in with outrageously raised voices.
By half past nine the house fell into silence and festering grudges.
Everyone went to bed much earlier than is the norm.
Maybe I tapped into a storm brewing. Maybe I inadvertently fueled it with negative energy.
Last night it struck me that it is more like the Warsaw ghetto around here than usual. They have erected steel fences around the building adjacent to ours as they prepare for demolition. A demarcation zone which brutally curtails entrance and exit points. All residents are compelled to navigate a dimly lit square of wasteland masquerading as a garden just to get home. Historically, it is the night time home to stabbings and drug dealings.
Two murders in the space of two years.
From my kitchen window I can just make out the silhouettes of latecomers hurrying along the path from one streetlight to the next. As the crow flies.
I toyed with the idea of venturing out there with wire cutters. Just to vent my spleen.
Incidentally, NØ. Forgot to mention it.
The bassline on the "Viva Las Vegas" remix is pure Jah Wobble. Interesting.
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