The Mussel Memory of the Soft Machine (or Don’t Clam Up, Mr Walrus)

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on October 16, 2018 @ 1:38 pm

L’inconscient
de la machine moules
avec le pomme frite
sur l’épaule
en raison de le désir
pour la belle âme

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Ethic effort

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on @ 10:41 am

The nine-to-five
theses of the Protestant
work ethic,
nailed to the door
of the church
of striving.
Nine to Five
of Pentacles.

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Whipped by the mob

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on April 27, 2018 @ 10:35 am

You might like to think were you to be whipped up by a mob it would be King mob, but you weren’t.
You might like to think were you to be whipped up by a mob it would be John Wilkes’ mob, but you weren’t.
You might like to think were you to be whipped up by a mob it would be John Reeves’ mob, but you weren’t.

You were whipped up by Rev. Lovejoy’s wife’s mob, and the remnants of your political integrity burnt with it.

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Rogue Savers

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on December 16, 2017 @ 1:12 pm

I am not here to save you
Through your game
Of needing to save me.
I don’t need saving
And I don’t need you.

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Lettuce

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on November 7, 2017 @ 9:01 am

Ooh, look it’s Al’s lettuce patch in his allotment.
Let’s stamp all over them.
I don’t know why he’s upset.
It’s not my responsibility.
He was asking for it.

Weren’t the allotment gates locked?
Yes, but I climbed over them.
Weren’t there guard dogs?
Yes, but I fed them poisoned meat.
Weren’t there armed security guards.
Yes, but I killed them.
Then I stamped all over his lettuce.

But it wasn’t my responsibilty

He let us.

It’s his fault.

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How the Empire Was Built

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on October 23, 2017 @ 7:43 pm

Your mum’s a bit
easy Keele 23,
8 of spades.

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Just words

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on September 26, 2017 @ 11:44 am

You say they are just words.
Or are they unjust words?
And so…
If you get that signifying joke
Then…
How can they be
Just words?

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Crayon wants the anti- gone

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on August 4, 2017 @ 9:38 am

Is this koan sacred?
Is this koan scared?
Whatever, we are scarred by it.

Is this Crone sacred?
This Crone is scared.
Whatever, we are scarred by her.

Is this Creon sacred?
This Creon is scared?
Whatever, we are scarred by him.

Cold cave, cold intimacies, cold comfort.

I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain this to you.

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The 9th Legion

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on July 23, 2017 @ 12:51 pm

The first missing formation
The first myth in formation
The first misinformation

Let us take it all in with a pict tour
Let us take it all in with a pitcher
Let us take it all in with a picture

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Amongst the Thick of It 16:8

Filed under:poetry — posted by Schizostroller on July 1, 2017 @ 1:59 pm

Because of the belief
he was banished
But the belief did not permit an outside
So he became a non-person in a non-place.

They worshipped the all-knowing,
the answer that couldn’t be questioned.
Everything was true
and he was not permitted.

He was to be forever witnessed,
under close minded observation,
by authoritians without authority.
Denied his individual freedom,
Denied his right to be.

Wolf-head Azazel
That Lot that is to be removed.
Homo Sacer.

In the name of the Father,
of she who can neither be blamed
nor named
as she was the Lot for the Lord,
the good sacrifice.
The good daughter,
Eve,
the Martyr.

So Salome Bentham,
daughter of Tantalus,
which film shall
we watch tonight?
Atonement?
Or the Wizard of Oz?

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image: detail of installation by Bronwyn Lace