Sunday, November 27, 2005

Friday, November 18, 2005


8.00am load washing machine - tick

9.00am walk dogs in autumn sunshine - tick

10.00am wash off the foul shit dogs rolled in - tick

11.00am start shopping - tick

Stop by printers to find that estimate for promotional material has nearly doubled - tick

2.00pm stop shopping/run out of money - tick

3.00pm shop for madame ex, who has cold - tick

Mad passionate sex - mission aborted

4.00pm offer to clear garden of single mother before pretentious neighbours have her evicted for jungle - tick

5.00pm train to old neighbourhood to visit friend too ill to cook, with packed epicurean dinner- tick

Call ahead to friend from payphone- mission aborted

Cigarette snatched from mouth by well dressed weirdo in street while trying to enter payphone - tick

Response from friend - no reply

Call police, 3 times before getting through - tick

Friend carted off in ambulance unconcious, reasons unknown - tick

Stand under streetlight, while glared by police in local red-light district - tick

Fuck off home with uneaten epicurean dinner - tick

Pull duvet under chin - tick

Ignore dogs smelling like musky vomit - tick

Cigarettes smoked - 37

Monday, November 14, 2005


Let's get back to Paradise
Where it all began
Where all the harps played
And the arias were sung

Revel in the lights
From the lamps as yet unborn
Where the sun is high
Like the end of dawn

I wanted to suprise you
Are you guilty now?
Dou you smile inside
Where you don't know how?
Paradise had faded, has died away
The music hall is empty
And the walls are decayed
Paradise has faded, has died today
Do you smile still
Waiting the delay?

Lower yourself to me
Get that string in your mouth
Pull it to release, go lower to the south
Let me genuflect like I did on the heath
Get through the forest
By the skin of your teeth

The red-filled gates so pink and ready
At your disposal if your tongue is steady
Go through before it's too late
Dinners in the oven
Dried on the plate

Do you taste well?
Is your tongue rewarded?
I ate good yesterday
When I could afford it

I have your face behind me
I have paid my dues
You're my private dick
Giving me inside clues

Paradise resumes without a quibble
Sunlight fills his hole
With floss for his teeth
And with those juices
Should I run for a bowl
or let him dribble?

I am in glory
But the floor hurts my knucles
He wipes his mouth
After all the suckles
From his stiff upper lip
My curly is gone
Consumed, past noon
Like a buttered scone

I stand erect
And rub my knees
Feeling the trickles
like tingling fleas

Even has arrived
I've another to see
Whose into the fruit
Eaten by the animals
Who swing from the trees

He'll provide the banana, me the split
Paradise re-entered, and grooved to fit
And just when I thought it was going to be too late
I'm on my knees, so open is my gate

This is what goes
What I do sometimes
Where the games are fun
And the sides of the back are parted
Where the buns are flattered
And the juices flow

This is what goes
When the music has started
What I do sometimes
When the music is started

A friend, the mad poet, was found at the bottom of a tower block this spring. the last time I spoke to him I put the phone down on him when he told me he had burnt all the work he still had. At his funeral the comment was made "I'm sure we all have something of *****'s [poems] at the back of a drawer somewhere.] As it's unlikely any of his work will ever be recovered, let alone published I have posted this poem here.

I've been sorting out my cd collection tonight, sad I know but it was threatening to landslide. I finally faced the remains of Mad Poet's cd collection left to me. Mad poet was well known for his impromtu renditions of Madonna, and as her latest album somes out this week, I will be thinking of him.

I'm no expert on feminine dignity, and I missed the Parkinson show on Saturday, but caught the trailer. As athletic [skinny] as Madge is now, get those bingo wings. Are the skinny not excused either? In the video there seemed to be more than the usual thrashing about too. Check it out yourself. I'll llearn to hyperlink one of these days. [Look in Headlines/more news. There's also a link to listen to the new album at MTV's site.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Not much to report. Been away a few days, highlights include being the only one to realise after 24 hours, that missing cat was under floorboards, during building work. Came home to message from R.S.P.C.A to report that everything was fine at Faded Beauty's.! Well, no Christmas cards from them then. Beppe comes from Naples apparently, Madam Ex waiting to be bumped off.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Pale and v.interesting!

Check out the amazing work of photographer Paul Mpagi Sepuya

Sunday, November 06, 2005


Well, I get a call late night, "Faded Beauty" and Italian Heroin-stud have got the dog back.

Think Anorexic Joanna Lumley with a cockney accent, and a fat n' greasy Beppe [Eastenders.]

There was a knock on Madam Ex's front-door amid all the fireworks of the 5/11. Before Madam Ex had a chance to spit out the venom he was expecting to decide the matter, the dog shot out between his legs, and Joanna Lumley and Beppe legged it with the scabby, but now flea-free dog.

On the phone to me what was Madame Ex's first idea? For me to punch him in the face and then ring the police and accuse "Beppe" of assault. "The dog would still remain her property" I sighed.

I sigh, because Madam Ex has been mooning for the last week or so over hairy straight neighbour, losing his temper when I implore him to notify the authorities about the dog's neglect. Now the yorkshire terrier has bolted, he wants the RSPCA to come on like dambusters. I am actually obseving complete amnesia on his part about just how defensive he's been at my pleading.

I was furious, mainly at myself for ever entertaining the possibility that Madame Ex's head contained even one synapse. After having rung the RSPCA, I stalk out of my house, my two dust bunnies in tow. The new legislation regarding now fireworks after 11.0pm meant I thought it was all clear. My dogs are used to the odd banging tune, so they aren't too bothered by a bang or two.

On the home stretch we passed a large brutalist council estate with lot's of green space surrounding it. A resident obviously felt that an enormous firework display was still permissable if it was as far away from the block as possible. Unfortunately for me and the dogs, that meant right up against the road, albeit screened from pedestrians by trees.

The first I knew were SEVERAL rockets all going off at once, just the other side of the road. It was like the blitz! Ash rained down around us, as I swiftly scooped up two petrified dogs and scuttled down the road.

I feel really down about the whole dog matter, and consequently have really been struggling to string even one witticism together. There is a wonderfully succinct post on Troubled Diva's blog about the whole blogging phonomena. No one seems to want to read blogs about blogging, and I couldn't put it better myself, so click on the link and see where I've been going wrong.