you know that citation i told you
about, mad matt - forks in the road;
i get more feeling from tina turner's
thunder-dome song than
i might get from a human
rights tribunal over cold coffee
and the 8 years i spent in isolation,
in a free, democratic, society -
prison within a prison
(better still had i been a norwegian terrorist
i'd get a savvy ivory plated toilet seat
to sit and sow *** goosebumps against!);
what a domesticity this has spawned,
i'd send all the homeless to
commit a petty crime to get shelter...
i would; i'd tell them to get a knife
and coolly sit with a would-be
victim slightly cutting them
but not killing them... and repeat...
and repeat... tie them with akimbo
and hold a knife to their neck...
just for a roof over their head...
no squalor no rat infestation -
i'd make all homeless people
fake crime... just for a roof...
i'm surprised they
haven't already...
hello! i say... hello?
hey man you know i'm really o.k.?!
the pen in my hand will tell you the same...
but when i'm writing poetry don't give me no crap;
'cos the smallest thing might make me snap:
you stupid dumb **** god-**** mother-******!
ah you know, song lyrics when the Canterbury Tales
make it to quiz shows and leave the cobweb covered
libraries of former educational audits that universities
are, no longer training monks or free-thinkers:
just little ***** eager to deface their former
presence in boarding schools with binges of what
it was to be in schools with periodical reality-checks
never angling chequers of nod and conformity -
universities aren't about being educated these days,
it's about an alcoholic allowance for pretty clubbing
antics - i've never wasted as much time as i ever
did in my life - i got taught to be bored of
menial tasks - when, within the framework of
human population, people are expected to
learn the joy of menial labour akin to having the
leisurely capacity to craft thought to no conclusion
worth investigating other than as a barrier
to accept the menial concordance with
what others utilise thought toward: a lack of
risk-assessment risking life or limb to climb a
transverse in the highlands -
perhaps an insect-like life for the former,
but then again an insect-like thinking for the latter -
how two anonymous timings
and how two anonymous spacings
occupy what we demand to be relative
when it's actually "relative",
between people, space is anonymous with regards
to time, and likewise time is anonymous with
regards to space... not necessarily non-existent,
i'm not going into ******* atheism
of non-existence over certain uncomfortable
truths... i'm stating a lesser hurt,
anonymity -
a mountain-climber walks into a supermarket...
indeed... a man walks into a bar joke series...
it's not that space disqualifies the chance
existence of time... the mediating
connection is that of anonymity, best
prescribed by people having different roles
in what society allows them to express
a hunger for whatever the hunger later invokes...
hope you don't hunger what
is translated as a chance meeting with
that zoological species known as paparazzi.