Genius.

                                       There's not much between
                                       Your hip and your arse,
                                       Genius.

There's not much between
Your ears.

 

Give this man a hug, somebody,

Quick...



My Vestigial Tale, Compassion

My vestigial tale, Compassion,
Didn't do me any good.

Far from being an atavistic flourish,
It was neither use nor ornament:

It just got in the way.





There are problems in these times
But, ooh, none of them are mine
Oh, baby, I’m beginning to see the light

                                        Beginning to see the light The Velvet Underground



 



                                                      I will go and join the Eloi, and curl up nice and warm.

 

 

Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night.

Exit

I had not thought death had undone so many...

Ann Clwyd and the dehumanising tendency in neo-liberal NHS/UK Public Service Management

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/12/05/ann-clwyd-battery-hen-nhs-hospital-wales-_n_2242345.html?view=print

White towers slo-mo to ground zero. Mouthfuls of grey dust. Eyes blink: becoming accustomed to the dark.

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.

‘But its kinda fun here’, say the Eloi. ‘We are light; pure energy: we are Stardust. Don’t disturb our day, we’re miles away. And after all, we’re only sleeping.’

But old men die in hospitals, unnoticed, and the Eloi walk the wards. Dainty children huddle behind their monitors. ‘Careful. Ooh, my nails’. Pink and perfect. Safe behind their hi-tec, wrapped up nice and warm in scene of crime, forensic onesies.

Black and huge. Yahoo bands make noise and beds at night, while the soft white Eloi sleep.

'How the sick and old clutter our office with their tubes, phlegm, and crumpled pyjamas.'

There is nothing . Only art...

The boy who is nothing sees Lennon’s white plimsolls walk beside the blue sea.

In Subway, alone, he looks down at a rainbow sandwich and brown tea. At the table by the window sits George Clooney. Or is it Cary Grant?  He turns and grins. Oh, brother - it’s George. The boy who is nobody turns away.

Greybeard at the next table looks over: a warm smile, soft, wet lips. White glass beads run down grizzled Ginsberg locks: the Maharishi sips his tea from a paper cup. Beside him, a Devotee sits hunched: middle-aged, silver specs, balding, tiny plait - all there is between inner light and banking; offers a glimpse of Guantanamo orange beneath his sodden parka; lays down his head; fingers beads inside an orange bag. Silent prayers. 

‘Ask me any question you like’.

‘Do you know God?’

There is a black cowled figure behind you.  Ferry across a jet black river. Orange eye of the jaguar behind big green leaves. Rustling, and there is a glistening brown thigh.

‘What lies on the other side?'

‘There is nothing. This is art.'

‘Oh, Jesus.’ Bows his head. Hunches. Rubs his eyes. There is nothing. Only art. And drum and bass on my radio. And do I dare, do I dare: dye my hair ruby red; and click my heels, and think of Ma?

Notes for Reviews

Music Reviews

Hasp: 1970s gentle folk/prog-rock combo celebrate 40 years in the business with the new digital release of the seminal 1974 concept album, 'Fairy warblers in high waist trousers'. 

If you enjoy Hasp, you may also enjoy Cusp, Lisp, and Wasp.

Also watch out for 'Clues for Trousers: New Romantic Survivors' on My Imaginary Records.


Light Entertainment

Behind the Curtains with Humphrey Burton

BBC4's Behind the Curtains with Humphrey Burton returns with more celebrity revelations from the world of shadows, wierdness, and self-effacement. 

'More occult tales in comfortable slacks...'