Sunday, 2 September 2007
Monday, 30 July 2007
Dream - Megolamania
A reunion with hundreds of people in a place much alike Hampton Court. Looking down from where I am I can see a pitch where later in the day a grand football match with hundreds fans will come together. It's a lavish party with champagne fountains and lovely girls. There is royalty around.
I am told its been a long held secret that I am actually a Prince. I take the news without flinching much. I am given a crown, one that I prefer to carry in my hand. I also attain an inner sense that when the football takes place the earth near us will implode. All the people, including myself will die. The earth will invert, eat in itself, slide across creating squares of swimming pools. I take this information without flinching much also. Though I clearly see visions of the impending tragedy and the beautiful shapes it will create.
Suddenly in the corner of my eye I see Sheherezade, who went to my school, with whom at the time I wished I had gone out with but never did. It was always thought we would. I approach her. Just before I give my crown to prince William, and say
" now that we are brothers". The energy is charged as I get to her. I am looking at the full wack. We say a few words. Words are not needed. We make out. To the view of the football pitch below and visions of tectonic plates I fuck her.
Possible Reasons behind the dream - I found Sheherezade in facebook on the weekend, I saw a skit from an apocalyptical film showing London all flooded, football is a constant, I read a few words written by David Lynch, It was my birthday on the weekend
I am told its been a long held secret that I am actually a Prince. I take the news without flinching much. I am given a crown, one that I prefer to carry in my hand. I also attain an inner sense that when the football takes place the earth near us will implode. All the people, including myself will die. The earth will invert, eat in itself, slide across creating squares of swimming pools. I take this information without flinching much also. Though I clearly see visions of the impending tragedy and the beautiful shapes it will create.
Suddenly in the corner of my eye I see Sheherezade, who went to my school, with whom at the time I wished I had gone out with but never did. It was always thought we would. I approach her. Just before I give my crown to prince William, and say
" now that we are brothers". The energy is charged as I get to her. I am looking at the full wack. We say a few words. Words are not needed. We make out. To the view of the football pitch below and visions of tectonic plates I fuck her.
Possible Reasons behind the dream - I found Sheherezade in facebook on the weekend, I saw a skit from an apocalyptical film showing London all flooded, football is a constant, I read a few words written by David Lynch, It was my birthday on the weekend
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Ana Maria Celeste
XII
She sat tossing popcorn on to empty beer bottles. Beer drunk, beer to be drank over volcanic rock, the Santo Domingo Bay and the sea in sight, her troubled hands tossing popcorn. She dreamt and balanced out her options. So many other gusanitos, little worms had made it across the other island.
When I met her she had glasses that were so thick it made her eyes seem as though they were looking from the other side of the room. Her face when she laughed made me feel something in between awe and nausea, a melancholy so toy-like I thought I could mend her. I should have jumped out of kitchen at that moment paid the waiter and walked the other direction. Unaware that in an unperceived way her boxer mulatto nose and curves had got me going again, knowing well that from that moment she would siphon and hinder my money and plans. Love is a violent thing, a restricting act of violence from where the forces in the cosmos spiral off to a kettle boiling towards a sink.
She appeared older than she was, though she was just nineteen. She would say excessive thinking brings the end of things. She thought sometimes of blood, of cuts, the thought of it converted her in to a playtime murderer while cadavers would come out of the earth with boiling meat on their lips. Strange having a mind so open to blood with such ill machinations, and yet when I turned the television on she would immediately turn it off.
“The crevice of all damnation,” she would say, “nothing like stasis to rot the nog.” A slap to the pancreas is how she called it.
“Please I must fuck you,” she said, “I haven’t had sex in months.” I let her. First time I didn’t get in though. We went on with the session stroking each other’s bodies, kissing necks, kissing tits, running the finger over every part. After a long while I fucked her. Right in this time. I went for a piss and she tossed me off, the rest of the day resumed in the same way.
“In heaven there are also cockroaches, slugs and maggots,” she said reading Zoe Valdez and Laura Restrepo. I bought her contacts. I would try to write, she spent time on messenger. She wanted me to tell her about the Islamic gardens of Seville. One day she would meet a famous interpreter she met online from Morocco. She missed the places she had been to and the places she had not.
She sat tossing popcorn on to empty beer bottles. Beer drunk, beer to be drank over volcanic rock, the Santo Domingo Bay and the sea in sight, her troubled hands tossing popcorn. She dreamt and balanced out her options. So many other gusanitos, little worms had made it across the other island.
When I met her she had glasses that were so thick it made her eyes seem as though they were looking from the other side of the room. Her face when she laughed made me feel something in between awe and nausea, a melancholy so toy-like I thought I could mend her. I should have jumped out of kitchen at that moment paid the waiter and walked the other direction. Unaware that in an unperceived way her boxer mulatto nose and curves had got me going again, knowing well that from that moment she would siphon and hinder my money and plans. Love is a violent thing, a restricting act of violence from where the forces in the cosmos spiral off to a kettle boiling towards a sink.
She appeared older than she was, though she was just nineteen. She would say excessive thinking brings the end of things. She thought sometimes of blood, of cuts, the thought of it converted her in to a playtime murderer while cadavers would come out of the earth with boiling meat on their lips. Strange having a mind so open to blood with such ill machinations, and yet when I turned the television on she would immediately turn it off.
“The crevice of all damnation,” she would say, “nothing like stasis to rot the nog.” A slap to the pancreas is how she called it.
“Please I must fuck you,” she said, “I haven’t had sex in months.” I let her. First time I didn’t get in though. We went on with the session stroking each other’s bodies, kissing necks, kissing tits, running the finger over every part. After a long while I fucked her. Right in this time. I went for a piss and she tossed me off, the rest of the day resumed in the same way.
“In heaven there are also cockroaches, slugs and maggots,” she said reading Zoe Valdez and Laura Restrepo. I bought her contacts. I would try to write, she spent time on messenger. She wanted me to tell her about the Islamic gardens of Seville. One day she would meet a famous interpreter she met online from Morocco. She missed the places she had been to and the places she had not.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
8.4%vol
I drink a K cider
8.4%vol "The Ultimate in Quality" which apparently contains sulphates, what ever the fuck they are
Upon a mound of rubble
the dog laughed
the roost listened
"chaff we are like
pigeons
like migratory semaphores making idle signals
worthless like bricks"
8.4%vol "The Ultimate in Quality" which apparently contains sulphates, what ever the fuck they are
Upon a mound of rubble
the dog laughed
the roost listened
"chaff we are like
pigeons
like migratory semaphores making idle signals
worthless like bricks"
worthless chaff
'Worthless chaff, who are you to teach the wind to leap or touch the broken ears of barley?'
John 23:17
My cat leaves the gall bladders of mice in the hall. I just found one then, dried and brittle, green and billeous. It crackled as I picked it up.
I threw it in the toilet, then pissed on it, holding my dick with the same fingers I'd used to hold that other disguarded, shrunken organ.
That kind of thing really doesn't bother me. It floated when I tried to flush. That doesn't bother me either. It'll reabsorb it's weight in moisture and sink, sink, sink.
I agree that we're just gathering stories, have been since we were young, living retrospectively. It's all very un-zen. It's because we hate society and we're cowards. I am going to put my balls on the line and do something brave. Rebel! Canada maybe, turn up, get a job straight away, see what happens if I just throw it all up in the air and let the wind take it, worthless chaff.
"Jook them and blindside them, let the shits fall where they may."
Ken Keasy.
And with that, we made a cup of tea.
WG
John 23:17
My cat leaves the gall bladders of mice in the hall. I just found one then, dried and brittle, green and billeous. It crackled as I picked it up.
I threw it in the toilet, then pissed on it, holding my dick with the same fingers I'd used to hold that other disguarded, shrunken organ.
That kind of thing really doesn't bother me. It floated when I tried to flush. That doesn't bother me either. It'll reabsorb it's weight in moisture and sink, sink, sink.
I agree that we're just gathering stories, have been since we were young, living retrospectively. It's all very un-zen. It's because we hate society and we're cowards. I am going to put my balls on the line and do something brave. Rebel! Canada maybe, turn up, get a job straight away, see what happens if I just throw it all up in the air and let the wind take it, worthless chaff.
"Jook them and blindside them, let the shits fall where they may."
Ken Keasy.
And with that, we made a cup of tea.
WG
Oliver Balch
Behind the waterfalls: human trafficking on the Triple Frontera
written by Oliver Blach, freelance journalist based in Argentina
..Spanning the borders of Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina stretch the awe-inspiring Iguazú falls. Lurking behind this incredible natural wonder, however, is a grisly trade in human trafficking..
readmore
http://www.argybargy.biz/Articles/Argentina/Human%20trafficking.htm
Latin America's secret slave trade also O.Balch in the triple frontier
http://www.guardian.co.uk/argentina/story/0,,1976028,00.html
written by Oliver Blach, freelance journalist based in Argentina
..Spanning the borders of Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina stretch the awe-inspiring Iguazú falls. Lurking behind this incredible natural wonder, however, is a grisly trade in human trafficking..
readmore
http://www.argybargy.biz/Articles/Argentina/Human%20trafficking.htm
Latin America's secret slave trade also O.Balch in the triple frontier
http://www.guardian.co.uk/argentina/story/0,,1976028,00.html
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