THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD IN VERSE
Dear Readers, I have tried to cover the salient features of this True Story in free flowing verse mainly with end rhymes. If you read it loud, you can hear the chimes! Due to the short attention span of my readers I had to cut short this long story, and conclude with the
Golden Era of Hollywood by stretching it up to the 1950's only. When TV began to challenge the Big Screen Cinema seriously! I have used only a part of my notes here. Kindly read the entire poem and don't hesitate to know many interesting facts - which I also did not know! I wish there was a provision for posting a few interesting photographs for you here. Best wishes, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.  

                 THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD :
                        THE AMERICAN  DREAM
                             BY RAJ NANDY

           A SHORT  HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
Since the earliest days, optical toys, shadow shows, and ‘magic
lanterns’, had created the illusion of motion.
This concept was first described by Mark Roget in 1824 as  
the 'persistent of vision'.
Giving impetus to the development of big screen cinema with its
close-ups, capturing all controlled and subtle expressions!
The actors were no longer required to shout out their parts with
exaggerated actions as on the Elizabethan Stage.
Now even a single tear drop could get noticed easily by the entire
movie audience!
With the best scene being included and edited after a few retakes.
To Thomas Edison and his able assistant William Rogers we owe the invention of Kinetoscope, the first movie camera.
On the grounds of his West Orange, New Jersey laboratory, Edison
built his first movie studio called the ‘Black Maria’.   (1893)
He also purchased a string of patents related to motion picture
Camera; forming the Edison Trust, - a cartel that took control of
the Film Industry entire!

Fort Lee, New Jersey:
On a small borough on the opposite bank of the Hudson River lay
the deserted Fort Lee.
Here scores of film production crews descended armed with picture Cameras, on this isolated part of New Jersey!
In 1907 Edison’s company came there to shoot a short silent film –
‘Rescue From an Eagle’s Nest’,
Which featured for the first time the actor and director DW Griffith.
The independent Chaplin Film Company built the first permanent
movie studio in 1910 in Fort Lee.
While some of the biggest Hollywood studios like the Universal,
MGM, and 20th Century Fox, had their roots in Fort Lee.
Some of the famous stars of the silent movie era included ‘Fatty’
Arbuckle, Will Rogers, Mary Pickford, Dorothy and Lillian Gish,
Lionel Barrymore, Rudolph Valentine and Pearl White.
In those days there were no reflectors and electric arch lights.
So movies were made on rooftops to capture the bright sunlight!
During unpredictable bad weather days, filming had to be stopped
despite the revolving stage which was made, -
To rotate and capture the sunlight before the lights atarted to fade!

Shift from New Jersey to West Coast California:
Now Edison who held the patents for the bulb, phonograph, and the Camera, had exhibited a near monopoly;
On the production, distribution, and exhibition of the movies which made this budding industry to shift to California from
New Jersey!
California with its natural scenery, its open range, mountains, desert, and snow country, had the basic ingredients for the movie industry.
But most importantly, California had bright Sunshine for almost
365 days of the year!
While eight miles away from Hollywood lay the port city of Los Angeles with its cheap labour.

                        THE RISE  OF  HOLLYWOOD
It was a real estate tycoon Harvey Wilcox and his wife Daeida from
Kansas, who during the 1880s founded ‘Hollywood’ as a community for like-minded temperate followers.
It is generally said that Daeida gave the name Hollywood perhaps
due to the areas abundant red-berried shrubs also known as
California Holly.
Spring blossoms around and above the Hollywood Hills with its rich variety,  gave it a touch of paradise for all to see !
Hollywood was incorporated as a municipality in 1903, and during
1910 unified with the city of Los Angeles.
While a year later, the first film studio had moved in from New
Jersey, to escape Thomas Edison’s monopoly!    (1911)

In 1913 Cecil B. De Mille and Jesse Lasky, had leased a barn with
studio facilities.
And directed the first feature length film ‘Squaw Man’ in 1914.
Today this studio is home to Hollywood Heritage Museum as we get to see.
The timeless symbol of Hollywood film industry that famous sign on top of Mount Lee, was put up by a real estate developer in 1923.  
This sign had read as ‘’HOLLY WOOD LAND’’ initially.
Despite decades of run-ins with vandals and pranksters, it managed to hang on to its prime location near the summit of the Hollywood Hills.
The last restoration work was carried out in 1978 initiated by Hugh
Hefner of the ******* Magazine.
Those nine white letters 45 feet tall now read ‘HOLLYWOOD’, and has become a landmark and America’s cultural icon, and an evocative symbol for ambition, glamour, and dream.
Forever enticing aspiring actors to flock to Hollywood, hypnotised
by lure of the big screen!

                     GOLDEN AGE OF HOLLYWOOD
The Silent Movie Era which began in 1895, ended in 1935 with the
production of ‘Dance of Virgins’, filmed entirely in the island of Bali.
The first Sound film ‘The Jazz Singer’ by Warner Bros. was made with a Vitaphone sound-on-disc technology.  (October 1927)
Despite the Great Depression of the 1930s, this decade along with the 1940s have been regarded by some as Hollywood’s Golden Age.
However, I think that this Golden Age includes the decades of the
1940s and the 1950s instead.
When the advent of Television began to challenge the Film Industry
itself !

First Academy Award:
On 16th May 1929 in the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard,
the First Academy Award presentation was held.
Around 270 people were in attendance, and tickets were priced at
$5 per head.
When the best films of 1927 & 1928 were honored by the Academy
of Motion Production and Sciences, or the AMPS.
Emil Jennings became the best actor, and Janet Gaynor the best actress.
Special Award went to Charlie Chaplin for his contribution to the
silent movie era and for his silent film ‘The Circus’.
While Warren Brothers was commended for making the first talking picture ‘The Jazz Singer’, - also receiving a Special Award!
Now, the origin of the term ‘OSCAR’ has remained disputed.
The Academy adopted this name from 1939 onwards it is stated.
OSCAR award has now become “the stuff dreams are made of”!
It is a gold-plated statuette of a knight 13.5 inches in height, weighing 8.5 pounds, was designed by MGM’s art director Cedric Gibbons.
Annually awarded for honouring and encouraging excellence in all
facets of motion picture production.

Movies During the Great Depression Era (1929-1941):
Musicals and dance movies starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers provided escapism and good entertainment during this age.
“Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it
backwards and in high heels,” - the Critics had said.
This compatible pair entertained the viewers for almost one and
a half decade.
During the ‘30s, gangster movies were popular starring James Cagey, Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson.
While family movies had their popular child artist Shirley Temple.
Swashbuckler films of the Golden Age saw the sword fighting scenes of Douglas Fairbanks and Errol Flynn.
Flynn got idolized playing ‘Robin Hood’, this film got released in
1938 on the big screen!
Story of the American Civil War got presented in the epic ‘Gone With The Wind’ (1939) with Clarke Gable and Vivian Leigh.
This movie received 8 Oscars including the award for the Best Film, - creating a landmark in motion picture’s history!
More serious movies like John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and
John Ford’s  ‘How Green Was My Valley’, were released in 1940 and 1941 respectively.
While the viewers escaped that depressive age to the magical world
of  ‘Wizard of Oz’ with its actress Judy Garland most eagerly!
Let us not forget John Wayne the King of the Westerns, who began
his acting career in the 1930s with his movie ‘The Big Trail’;
He went on to complete 84 films before his career came to an end.
Beginning of the 40s also saw Bob Hope and the crooner Bing Crosby, who entertained the public and also the fighting troops.
For the Second World War (1939-45) had interrupted the Golden Age of Hollywood.
When actors like Henry Fonda, Clarke Gable, James Stewart and
Douglas Fairbanks joined the armed forces temporarily leaving
Hollywood.
Few propaganda movies supporting the war efforts were also made.
While landmark movies like ‘Philadelphia Story’, ‘Casablanca’, ‘Citizen Kane’,
‘The Best Years of Our Lives’, were some of the most successful movies of that decade.  (The 1940s)
Now I come towards the end of my Hollywood Story with the decade  of the 1950s, thereby extending the period of Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Since having past the Great Depression and the Second World War,  the Hollywood movie industry truly matured and came of age.

                        HOLLYWOOD  OF  THE  1950s

BACKGROU­ND:
The decade of the ‘50s was known for its post-war affluence and
choice of leisure time activities.
It was a decade of middle-class values, fast-food restaurants, and
drive-in- movies;
Of ‘baby-boom’, all-electric home, the first credit cards, and new fast moving cars like the Ford, Plymouth, Buick, Hudson, and Chevrolet.
But not forgetting the white racist terrorism in the Southern States!
This era saw the beginning of Cold War, with Eisenhower
succeeding Harry S. Truman as the American President.
But for the film industry, most importantly, what really mattered  
was the advent of the Domestic TV.
When the older viewers preferred to stay at home instead of going
out to the movies.
By 1950, 10.5 million US homes had a television set, and on the
30th December 1953, the first Color TV went on sale!
Film industries used techniques such as Cinemascope, Vista Vision,
and gimmicks like 3-D techniques,
To get back their former movie audience back on their seats!
However, the big scene spectacle films did retain its charm and
fantasy.
Since fantasy epics like ‘The Story of Robin Hood’, and Biblical epics like ‘The Robe’, ‘Quo Vadis’, ‘The Ten Commandments’ and ‘Ben-Hur’, did retain its big screen visual appeal.
‘The Robe’ released on 16th September 1953, was the first film shot
and projected in Cinema Scope;
In which special lenses were used to compress a wide image into a
standard frame and then expanded it again during projection;
Resulting in an image almost two and a half times as high and also as wide, - captivating the viewers imagination!

DEMAND FOR NEW THEMES DURING THE 1950s :
The idealized portrayal of men and women since the Second World War,
Now failed to satisfy the youth who sought exciting symbols for rebellion.
So Hollywood responded with anti-heroes with stars like James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman.
They replaced conventional actors like Tyron Power, Van Johnson, and Robert Taylor to a great extent, to meet the requirement of the age.
Anti-heroines included Ava Gardner, Kim Novak, and Marilyn Monroe with her vibrant *** appeal;
She provided excitement for the new generation with a change of scene.
Themes of rebellion against established authority was present in many Rock and Roll songs,
Including the 1954 Bill Hailey and His Comets’ ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
The era also saw rise to stardom of Elvis Presley the teen heartthrob.
Meeting the youthful aspirations with his songs like ‘Jailhouse Rock’!
I recall the lyrics of this 1957 film ‘Jailhouse Rock’ of my school days, which had featured the youth icon Elvis:
   “The Warden threw a party in the county jail,
     The prison band was there and they began to wail.
     The band was jumping and the joint began to sing,
     You should’ve heard them knocked-out jail bird sing.
     Let’s rock, everybody in the whole cell block……………
     Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
     Little Joe was blowing the slide trombone.
     The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang!
     The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang,
      Let's rock,.................... (Lyrics of the song.)

Rock and Roll music began to tear down color barriers, and Afro-
American musicians like Chuck Berry and Little Richard became
very popular!
Now I must caution my readers that thousands of feature films got  released during this eventful decade in Hollywood.
To cover them all within this limited space becomes an impossible
task, which may kindly be understood !
However, I shall try to do so in a summarized form as best as I could.

BOX OFFICE HITS YEAR-WISE FROM 1950 To 1959 :
Top Ten Year-Wise hit films chronologically are: Cinderella (1950),
Quo Vadis, The Greatest Show on Earth, Peter Pan, Rear Window,
Lady and the *****, Ten Commandments, Bridge on the River
Kwai, South Pacific, and Ben-Hur of 1959.

However Taking The Entire Decade Of 1950s Collectively,
The Top Films Get Rated As Follows Respectively:
The Ten Commandments, followed by Lady and the *****, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Bridge on the River Kwai, Around the World in Eighty Days, This is Cinerama, The Greatest Show on Earth, Rear Window, South Pacific, The Robe, Giant, Seven Wonders of the World, White Christmas, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Sayonara, Demetrius and the Gladiator, Peyton Place, Some Like It Hot, Quo Vadis, and Auntie Mame.

Film Debuts By Rising Stars During The 1950s :
The decade of the ‘50s saw a number of famous film stars making
their first appearance.
There was Peter Sellers in ‘The Black Rose’, Marlon Brando in
‘The Men’, and actress Sophia Loren in ‘Toto Tarzan’.
Following year saw Charles Bronson in ‘You Are in the Navy Now’,
Audrey Hepburn in ‘Our Wild Oats’, and Grace Kelly, the future
Princess of Monaco, in her first film ‘Fourteen Hours’. (1951)
While **** Brigitte Bardot appeared in 1952 movie ‘Crazy for Love’; and 1953 saw Steve Mc Queen in ‘******* The Run’.
Jack Lemon, Paul Newman, and Omar Sharif featured in films
during 1954.
The following year saw Clint Eastwood, Shirley Mc Lean, Walter
Matthau, and Jane Mansfield, all of whom the audience adored.
The British actor Michael Cain appeared in 1956; also Elvis Presley
the youth icon in ‘Love Me Tender’ and as the future Rock and Roll
King!
In 1957 came Sean Connery, followed by Jack Nicholson, Christopher Plummer, and Vanessa Redgrave.
While the closing decade of the ‘50s saw James Coburn, along with
director, script writer, and producer Steven Spielberg, make their
debut appearance.

Deaths During The 1950s: This decade also saw the death of actors
like Humphrey Bogart, Tyron Power and Errol Flynn.
Including the death of producer and director of epic movies the
renowned Cecil B. De Mille!
Though I have conclude the Golden Age of Hollywood with the 50’s Decade,
The glitz and glamour of its Oscar Awards continue even to this day.
With its red carpet and lighted marquee appeal and fashion display!

CONTINUING THE HOLLYWOOD STORY WITH FEW TITBITS :
From Fort Lee of New Jersey we have travelled west to Hollywood,
California.
From the silent movie days to the first ‘talking picture’ with Warren
Bros’ film ‘The Jazz Singer’.  (06 Oct 1927)
On 31st July 1928 for the first time the audience heard the MGM’s
mascot Leo’s mighty roar!
While in July 1929 Warren Bros’ first all-talking and all- Technicolor
Film appeared titled - ‘On With The Show’.
Austrian born Hedy Lamarr shocked the audience appearing **** in a Czechoslovak film ‘Ecstasy’!  (1933)
She fled from her husband to join MGM, becoming a star of the
‘40s and the ‘50s.
The ‘Private Life of Henry VII’ became the first British film to win the  American Academy Award.  (1933)
On 11Dec 1934, FOX released ‘Bright Eyes’ with Shirley Temple,
who became the first Child artist to win this Award!
While in 1937 Walt Disney released the first full animated feature
film titled - ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarf ‘.
The British film director Alfred Hitchcock who came to
Hollywood later;
Between 1940 and 1947, made great thrillers like 'Rebecca', ‘Notorious’, ‘Rear Window’, and ‘Dial M for ******’.
But he never won an Oscar as a Director!

THE GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD:
This award began in 1944 by the Foreign Correspondence Association at
the 20th Century Fox Studio.
To award critically acclaimed films and television shows, by awarding a
Scroll initially.
Later a Golden Globe was made on a pedestal, with a film strip around it.
In 1955 the Cecil B. De Mille Award was created, with De Mille as its first
recipient.

THE GRAMMY AWARD:
In 1959 The National Academy of Recording and Sciences sponsored the
First Grammy Award for music recorded during 1958.
When Frank Sinatra won for his album cover ‘Only The Lonely’, but he
did not sing.
Among the 28 other categories there was Ella Fitzgerald, and Count Basie
for his musical Dance Band Performance.
There was Kingston Trio’s song ‘Tom Dooly’, and the ‘Chipmunk Song’,
which brings back nostalgic memories of my school days!

CONCLUDING HOLLYWOOD STORY  WITH STUDIOS OF THE 1950s

Challenge Faced by the Movie Industry:
Now the challenge before the Movie Industry was how to adjust to the
rapidly changing conditions created by the growing TV Industry.
Resulting in loss of revenue, with viewers getting addicted to
their Domestic TV screen most conveniently!

The late 1950s saw two studios REPUBLIC and the RKO go out of business!
REPUBLIC from 1935- ‘59 based in Los Angeles, developed the careers of
John Wayne and Roy Rogers, and specializing in the Westerns.
RKO was one of the Big Five Studios of Hollywood along with Paramount,
MGM, 20th Century Fox, and Warner Brothers in those days.

RKO Studio which begun with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in the ‘30s,
included actress Katherine Hepburn who holds the record for four Oscars
even to this day;
And later had Robert Mitchum and Carry Grant under an agreement.
But in 1948, RKO Studio came under the control Howard Hughes the
temperamental Industrialist.
Soon the scandal drive and litigation prone RKO Studio closed, while
other Big Four Studios had managed to remain afloat!


PARAMOUNT STUDIO:
Paramount Studio split into two separate companies in 1950.
Its Theatre chain later merged with ABC Radio & Television Network;
And they created an independent Production/Distribution Network.
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope had been Paramount’s two biggest stars.
Followed by actors like Alan Ladd, William Holden, Jerry Lewis, Dean
Martin, Charlton Heston, and Dorothy Lamour.
They also had the producer/director Cecil B. De Mille producing high-
grossing Epics like ‘Samson & Delilah’ and ‘The Ten Commandments’.
Also the movie maker Hal Wallis, who discovered Burt Lancaster and
Elvis Presley - two great talents!

20th CENTURY FOX:
Cinema Scope became FOX’s most successful technological innovation
with its hit film ‘The Robe’. (1953)
Its Darryl Zanuck had observed during the early ‘50s, that audience  
were more interested in escapist entertainments mainly.
So he turned to FOX to musicals, comedies, and adventure stories.
Biggest stars of FOX were Gregory Peck & Susan Hayward; also
stars like Victor Mature, Anne Baxter, and Richard Wind Mark.
Not forgetting Marilyn Monroe in her Cinema Scope Box Office hit
movie - ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’, which was also shown on
prime time TV, as a romantic comedy film of 1953.

WARREN BROTHERS:
During 1950 the studio was mainly a family managed company with
three brothers Harry, Albert, and Jack Warren.
To meet the challenges of that period, Warren Bros. released most of
its actors like James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Oliver de Havilland, -
Along with few others from their long-term contractual commitments;
Retaining only Errol Flynn, and Ronald Regan who went on to become
the future President.
Like 20th Century Fox, Warren Bros switched to musicals, comedies,
and adventure movies, with Doris Day as its biggest musical star.
The studio also entered into short term agreements with Gary Copper,
John Wayne, Gregory Peck, Patricia Neal, and Random Scott.
Warren Bros also became the first major studio to invest in 3-D
production of films, scoring a big hit with its 3-D  suspense thriller
‘House of Wax’ in 1953.

MINOR STUDIOS were mainly three, - United Artists, Columbia, and
The Universal.
They did not own any theatre chain, and specialized in low-budgeted
‘B’ Movies those days.
Now to cut a long story short it must be said, that Hollywood finally
did participate in the evolution of Television industry, which led to
their integration eventually.
Though strategies involving hardware development and ownership of
broadcast outlets remained unsuccessful unfortunately.
However, Hollywood did succeed through program supply like prime-
time series, and made-for-TV films for the growing TV market making
things more colorful!
Thus it could be said that the TV industry provided the film industry
with new opportunities,  laying the groundwork for its diversification
and concentration;
That characterized the entertainment industry during the latter half  
of our previous century.
I must now confess that I have not visited the movie theatre over the last
two decades!
I watch movies on my big screen TV and my Computer screen these days.
Old classical movies are all available on ‘You Tube’ for me, and I can watch
them any time whenever I am free!
Thanks for reading patiently, - Raj Nandy.
**ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI

So …..
  
Who Are The ...  
... " Good Guys " ... ?  
In These Modern Times ... ?  

Osama … Obama ... ? ?  
Or Those … Civil Type Guardia ... ?  
  
What ...  
Makes Them Good ... ?  
  
The Guns They Use ...
As If They ... Should ….  
To RESTRAIN and ... Defuse ...  
VIOLENT … Neighbourhoods … !?!
  
But REALLY …  
Is This ... What They Do … ?!?  
  
I've Heard Stories ...  
That … Relay TRUTH ...  
About The ABUSE ...  
Some Guardia … Choose … !!!  
  
Like …  
STRIPPING Men …  
In … Spanish Streets ...  
To ... Prove To Them ….  
The ... Kinda PROBLEMS ...  
They're ... BOUND To See ...  
If They ... DON'T Respect ...  
The ... " Gendarmerie " … !!!!!  
  
Good Guys ….. !!!?!!!  
  
REALLY … ?!?  
  
Or Employed … BULLIES ...  !?!  
  
The Type Who ... FEED ...  
of … "ABUSE FILLED Deeds" … !!!  
  
The Type That Make ...  
Young People … BLEED … !!!
  
When ...  
Guns They … PARADE …  
Aren't Used … " Properly " …  
  
Kind of Like …. " NEWTOWN " ….  
Where It's CLEAR … Gun Sounds ...  
Will Now … RESOUND ...  
In The ... Hearts and Mouths ...  
of ... Parents Now …  
  
Resound With … " LOSS " … !!!!!  
Cos' A ... LOVED One's Gone … !!!!!
  
WITHOUT A …. Song ….  
Or Farewell ... "Prolonged" ...
  
So …. ???  
  
What Was The Mantra ... ?  
of … Adam Lanza ... ?  
  
To Shoot REPEATEDLY ...  
In A ... KILLING SPREE …  
That Took … SO MANY … !!!!!  
  
Was His Mind So HEAVY ... ?!?  
That His Thoughts … CLEARLY …  
Had Become …  "UNstEAdy" … !!!  
  
So …  
Where Were Connecticut's ...  
GOOD GUYS … Then … ?  
  
With The ... " NRA " ... !?!  
At A ... Shooting Range … ???  
  
Shooting Guns For …  "FUN" … !!!  
  
While The Blood of A MUM ...  
And Youngsters ..... RUN .....................................
  
Down SCHOOL Hallways ...  
In The … Middle of The Day ... !?!
  
Now The NRA Says …  
  
"Bad Guys with guns,  
need to face, good ones !"
  
Okay Okay ...  
But Let's ... Get This Straight … !!!  
  
It's ... OKAY For A Man ...  
Whose Been Paid and Trained ...  
To ... SHOOT TO **** ...
  
Pretty Much AT WILL ...  
Cos' It's Been … " Okayed " …  
By The ….  " NRA " …. !?!  
  
Who Said ...  
They Were Good … !!!???!!!  
  
I Learnt My Lesson ...  
Watching … Charlton Heston ... !!!  
  
It Would ...  
Seem To Me ...  
That ... NRA Peeps …  
  
Care ...  
MORE For ... MONEY ...  
Than When … Children BLEED … !!?!!  
  
It's ... ALL About GREED … !!!  
  
Cos' ...  
Good GUYS ... DON'T NEED ...  
To Have … " ARMOURIES " ... !!!  
To ENSURE The Streets ...  
Are Filled With … "PEACE" ...
  
and I … For One ...  
DON'T Believe That Guns ...
Have … ANY Function …  
In …. Education …. !!!!!!  
  
Educate Our Youth ….. !!!  
About The ...  
  
HARM They Cause ... !!!!!!!  
  
They NEED To Be Schooled ...  
In ….... AVOIDING Wars ............ !!!!!!
  
And In ... Avoiding Depression …  
That Leads To HARSH Lessons ... !!!!!  
  
It Time To STRENGTHEN ... !!!  
Our Fight Against ... Guns ...  
  
And Time To … " LESSEN " …  !!!  
" NRA " ... Type Funds ... !!!!!  
  
That SUPPORT …   " The Lie "  
of …..  " Preservation of life " …  
    
Through The Use of …  
………. GUNS …………  
  
Seeing Blood ... Run …  
DOESN'T ... Signify FUN … !!!!!  
  
NEITHER Does ...  
... The Sight ...  
  
of Police In Schools ...  
With A Gun By Their Side … !!!
  
They Weren't In View …  
When I Was ... Being Schooled … !!!
  
So FOLKS …  
DON'T BE ... Fooled ... !!!  
By ...  Lobbyist Groups … !!!!!  
  
When It Comes To ...  
  
... "Who is Who" …  
  
Who Are THEY To Decide … !???!  
When It Comes To ... Peoples' Lives ...  
  
Who The People Should Believe .....  
    
To Be …………………………  
  
... "The Good Guys !!!" ...

well... feminism has had its three waves
of revisionism -

    and there i'm sitting on
the windowsill,
   smoking out of my window -

watching the moon sloth the sky like
an demonic snail -

in the misty haze of a large patch
of cumulonimbus -
    right up there at around 50,000 feet...

thinking to myself?
   why are there two orbs of varying
light concentration
penetrating the sky
   and embedding the moon
in an eerie aura?

never mind -
   i still don't know what the chemical
formula for timber is,
or what sort of material is on
the moon that allows it to reflect
light from the other side
of the Greenwich Mean Time...

last time i heard: can a rock surface
reflect light?

          well then... ah... never mind...

but feminism has had its three waves
of instigation and two subsequent
waves of revisionism -

so it made me think:
   why not a second wave of fascism?
a revisionist wave...
    well... as far as i am concerned
the Italians were much paler -
   in their intentions than the Germans...

fascism 2.0 -
and the sort of fascism that would allow
me to be men...
    drunks, foul mouthed, you name it...
athletic, not-giving-a-**** losers of
sorts, among the glam of whatever else
it is that a man is...

working on the idea,
i had to think of a list -

   hmm...

          who then?
ah!

      Stanley Kowalski
   (from a streetcar named desire)...
John Wayne
  (notably from true grit)
    Charlton Heston
(from the planet of the apes)
   Tony Curtis...
              Hemingway,
Bukowski,
               Ezra Pound...
     Clark Gable
    Gregory Peck
                   the list is seemingly
endless -
   at least in the portrayal of
said characters...
ah... ****!
   Kevin Spacey as
Lester Burnham to boot!
            ah... double ****:
Denzel Washington as
Troy Maxson...
    because apparently "being"
a "poet" is little more than
the lesser stature
of a garbage man...
             unless of course:
you fiddle into a cosmopolitan
fixture.

    oh... and certainly an appreciation
for a traditional Turkish barber
shop...

something very much akin / borrowed
from America circa 1950s...
   and an unabashed sensibility
concerning good tailoring -
   but then also the prophetic
vagabond look from time to time...

just a vague idea -
    but something along these lines -
but then again, what a silly idea -
what is racial purity in
21st century England?
   some sort of vague notion
       of an even vaguer dream?

but i guess the notion of
individualistic purity:
   the purity of the individual is related
more to: who can and who won't
be swayed by alien opinions -
2nd or 3rd party -

        which includes this opinion...

i'd subscribe to put the idea on
the following zenith:

              grammatical cleanliness -
linguistic order -
            a literary tact -
   something along these lines -

after all: the 20th century is not the end
of a theory -
given 20th century communism this,
while 21st century socialism that...
ideas prevail...
   evolve - or devolve - regress
or make alternative progress -

               also given:
    there already is a fascist movement
elsewhere, other than in England -
where: it would be completely
impractical -
                  
                       prime tenet would also
be, what it already shows:
   non-expansionism of a culture
or a people -
                           more akin to
American isolationism under
                                                  F.D.R.:
i­ have a strange sentiment
for that president.

An away game at Leeds!
The Loiner Lion will have its feeds.
So it was, back in the day
When Revie’s Men held full sway.
Reaney, Charlton, Hunter, Cooper,
That defence was really super.
David Harvey, ‘keeper complete,
Guaranteed a solid clean sheet.

The midfield ruled by Bremner and Giles,
Billy’s energy, Johnny’s wiles.
Lorimer and Gray down the wings,
Recalling Eddie (Gray), oh my heart sings.
Jones and Clarkey gave us goals,
Lots of them, shoals and shoals.

73-74 our greatest year,
Opponents always full of fear.
Man U relegated that season too,
Better days there were very few.
We won the league by a merry mile,
Time to smile as we did it in style.

In 69 we lost just two from 42.
Opponents didn’t know what to do.
Burnley and City our only losses,
Otherwise we were the bosses.

92 was another good year,
Man U crying in their beer.
Then we sold them Cantona,
That really was a bridge too far.
The rest is history as they say;
We strive again to have our day.

In the second tier on Italian money,
Seeking the land of milk and honey.
The Premiership’s the place where we should be,
Please Messi, join us, on a free!

We hanker for those glory days.
God please help us with your mysterious ways.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\9\2015.

I COULDN'T GO OUTSIDE IN CASE I GOT ZIKA,
BUT THERE WAS NO WAY I WAS GOING TO GET WEAKER,
I MET RONALDO, AT A FIFA PARTY AS YOU GO,
AND MESSI AND NEYMAR WHO HAD NOWHERE .. .. ,
THEY SAY THAT INDONESIA IS TO BE ATTACKED BY TERRORISTS,
BUT WE'VE HAD ENOUGH OF TORNADOES AND EXTREMISTS,
NAOMI SOCKED SOMEONE ELSE ON A BA PLANE,
AFTER DIVORCE, CHARLTON WON'T BE THE SAME AGAIN,
ENGLAND'S VOTING TO STAY WITH EUROPE OR NOT,
MOST DON'T GIVE A S.... , THEY'LL SAY THEY FORGOT,
TRUMP CONTINUES TO BORE US AND DEPLORE MOST,
DON'T LET MONEY BUY OR ENTERTAIN HIS ILLITERATE BOAST;
WE'LL GET ON WITH OUR LIVES, DON'T NEED THOSE GUYS,
THEY SHOULD REMEMBER THAT SOME THINGS ARE NOT GOVERNED BY THEIR SIZE.

horns squawk
   rainforest avenues
  
  exoskeleton
of cars
   arteries clogged
with unlovely   taxi cabs

fat  green  fruit
for sale
     five languages
merge into a knot
hisses    kiss    vowels
   kiwis apples pears

   black guys   basketball
debt rises like      blood pressure
stocks tumble
    but we walk
brogues clop on concrete

count  brick after  brick
sun cascades
   over roof slates
mind cracks in slabs

   (you say
Monroe      stood here)

   heat quivers
men are dominoes
suits    for the office
   a funeral

designer sneakers
   daddy paid for
pigtails   cheap thrills
  violet octagons
  on a stranger’s neck
(behind the closed doors)

today
I drink purple water
     aubergine lips
remind me
of a Tuscany Superb

   list the names
Houston   Charlton
Leroy   Sullivan
Perry   Cornelia
Dominick and Jane

(ladders lead
                away from me
                close to
you)

and back again

Soccer, like baseball has legends as well
Some are great players, and some you can't tell
They have great careers, some ring the bell
But some are still legends,  others...legends that fell
Pele', no question is the best of them all
He could perform football magic when he had the ball
Is his World Cup in Sweden, the best of them all
None had his magic, or walked quite so tall
Team England at Wembley won in sixsty six
With Charlton and Moore, they were top of the picks
But since then, no more magic...something they can't fix
They went out as World Champs, but the curse..it still sticks
Maradonna, no question, has an ego like none
He thinks he is special, Jesus might be his son
The hand of God statement, just might be the one
That wipes out his achievements, and puts him under the gun
Head butts from players, hand ***** and bad plays
do we remember sucessess or is it failure that stays?
Is ithe team or the player or the fan who must pay
When they lessen their image that sets fans in a daze
Do we gloss over issues because a player is great
Or do we remember a player who reached legend by fate
Do we remember their battles when we chose to berate
Or do we respect how they acted and say "good on, mate"
All sports have heroes, and all sports have bums
But some are remembered for just flapping their gums
Remember a legend, is a player who comes
To the pitch as a player and makes the crowd hum.

With Dot in the Hospital
2 reputed mini strokes.
A fevered delirium then emerges,
whispers of witchcraft are rife in the ward;
words sunken as rafters
rasping to strike again,
attempted barefoot  escapes
escapades as sure as her once hero
Charlton goalie  Sam Bartram
to be that sprightly girl again
her perseverance draws.

Pluto was just like the rest,
Complete a full rotation, wake up and get dressed,
Open his eyes, feel the weak beams of sunlight on his chest,
Looks upon his brothers and can’t help but be subtly impressed.

There was Earth, a real people’s person,
Wore turf like makeup, but not in equal proportion
To his ever rising water level that always seemed to worsen,
And a high population that could sometimes be a burden.

Riots and drama and wars blemish like acne,
His inhabitants each day getting slowly more crafty,
Some think he’s round, others prefer to live flatly,
I guess being the most popular isn’t so classy.

Jupiter was closer, a real gas giant,
Lived all alone with no people to be her clients,
But stuck in constant alliance with a star filled tyrant,
The universes ring around her finger, a constant engagement.

And then there was Pluto, a boy with a strange condition,
A condition made worse by a long stellar distance,
In a world seemingly endless, it’s time that this came fourth,
What was wrong with Pluto you ask?
Well he was a dwarf.

Due to his small size, Pluto just didn’t quite fit,
The little guy in town, but with a slightly bigger orbit
The shortest, the furthest, not reachable by any rocket,
Until one day the universe did something even more horrid.

2006, the year the family would die,
God took his power, and cast Pluto aside,
No longer a brother, cast him out and took his pride,
Now forever a dwarf planet, it was planet genocide.

From that day on, Pluto became distant,
He was the same as them, same digestive solar system,
But he was victim to prejudice between organisms,
A broken existence, due to planetary feudalism.

By Thomas Charlton

.i did write about rooney mara once, didn't i? porcelain beauty... eh... not mandible beauty, the sort of beauty parallel to the Mona Lisa... the sort of beauty that's not mandible like the beauty of a fat *******'s beauty of stretch marks and extra flab... ******* a beached whale... you know... a mechanic's type of fetish for a broken down car engine... rooney mara? ms. porcelain doll beauty? that **** you just paint, you don't **** it... thinking to yourself: if i **** it, will it break?!

                       is... is...
this guy known as
yungblud...
singing the song
california...
dyslexic or something?
no, wait, wait...
he's hiding a lisp?
**** it... i'll just do
the camp *******
of reading the sunday times
style supplement
magazine, interviewing
cheryl tweedy...
****!
who the hell put on
van morrison's
brown eyed girl on?!
   yum-yum-sloppy-seconds
thank-you-very much...
like... a face that allows
you decentralize your
phallus from orientating
it around cow Martian
testicles and...
those floral patterns
in a ******...
   kinda like... joey fisher...
see... i'm under the
polygraph of a liter of
ms. amber...
     who the ****... ha ha...
lies when drunk / drinking?
she's about a liter tall...
(insert snigger)...
and she has a Havana ***
girth...
all that's missing is
pickled onions...
and some raw cherry
tomatoes...
ah ha ha ha!
god... i love reading these
articles...
i love women in general...
not unlike those glory days
when women found
*** easy...
with the likes of...
oh **** me... there's a list,
which implies a colon:
tony curtis...
   shhhhh... it...
  i can only think of tony curtis...
charlton heston doesn't
really fill the bill...
ooh ooh!
  **** jagger!
**** it... let's leave it at two...
in the meantime,
the bite of reality:
        
*****... what you gonna do
when your favorite
sugar-grandpa is kicking
the bucket?
   fix it up with the types
of losers of my generation...
lament of the first world war...
the missing men...
or the Haj route to the Kaaba
of a Saudi Sheik's harem?
me?
   i'm a father every time i ****
off...
   daddy in a tissue...
both father... and genocidal
maniac... i killed more "people"
than ******...
hey...   appetites are appetites...
but it's not as bad as if i was
given the incentive of
a circumcision...
   now... you have your dress of genitals...
and i have my *******'s worth
of tux, white **** and bow-tie...
we're even...

and to even think...
when we were leaving high-school,
i wrote down my ambitions
in the leaving book my two prime
ambitions...
either living a bohemian lifestyle
of an artist in some European
capital (Paris... god, please, Paris),
or becoming a priest...
   well... i'm doing both...
a covert monk...
          there's the god's **** of beer,
there's ms. amber,
the marquees de bourbon...
               and...
                usually a newspaper and
a blank space in pixel paper...

poor boy gotta laugh...
poor girl gotta fish, tame or hunt...
rich boy gotta party...
rich girl gotta dream about
a fling -
some variant of an indie
romantic comedy.

At this time of my life
I find myself wearing hats…
I’m not happy with my head you see,
In short, being able to see it
it just doesn’t thrill me.
Not through those depressing, disappearing strands.
So it’s that time - It’s hat time!

Hats are warm, comforting things;
take it off and, for a while at least,
it feels still there - a phantom hat.
Not quite as spooky or worrying
as a phantom arm or leg - after that
severed limb thing, but right there!
It really is that time - It’s hat time!

My Grandma Lamplough,
that’s on my mother’s side,
was an avid knitter of things to order,
She was even a freelancer for Jaeger…
matinée jackets, mittens, cardies, pullovers
But in later days mostly just tea cosies.
If there was no immediate customer in mind…
“Everybody needs a cosy and one size fits all”
she would say… and anyway,
commissions were rare for cosies back in the day

She’d wear it boldly herself
with handle and spout slots front & back, proud
She’d start the next one and announce
to every visitor right out loud…
”Hey…Do you want a cosy for your ***?
Mr Watling, the milkman, he had quite a lot!
But then he showed up every day!
A quart is it Mrs L?… and yes, I WILL have a cosy today!

Me? I’ve never fancied a toupee, wig
or go in for a Bobby Charlton tribute gig ….
I’ll be happy just to settle for a beret,
news boy or Fedora… to hide the offending pate
and avoid the comb over till a later date.
Meanwhile I’ll maybe settle for Grandma’s cosy special?

Without God we cannot and without us God will not, Sister Bonaventure, the Italian  said, in R.E  at the school, where Fay sat looking at the nun's plump features and a second chin that lay on the nun's wimple. Cannot what? a girl said from beside Fay, a thin girl whose hand was raised above her head. Others stared in Fay's direction as did the nun. What do you think it means, Gloria? the nun asked, her dark eyes peering at the girl. The girl shrugged her shoulders. Salvezza, the nun said, salvation. Fay took the word and tongued it in her mouth like a boiled sweet. Salvezza. The other girls in the class sat mute; some looked at each and smiled either out of indifference or bewilderment, but Fay sat straight-faced, the words in her mouth, both Italian and English. Salvation? A girl asked, pushing her luck, seeing the nun's features harden like cement on a hot day. To be saved, the nun said, saved from damnation. The girls all Catholic and bought up from the cradle knew this, but it was a hot day and they had lost interest as soon as Sister Bonaventure had entered the class with the ease of a hippo into a muddy swamp. But Fay took the words and packed them away inside her head to **** upon in her nightly hours when she failed to sleep. After school, walking along St George's Road, she saw Benedict standing by the subway waiting for her. He stood with hands in his pockets, his school tie untied, hanging loose, his shirt collar unbuttoned. She smiled when she saw him; her stomach did a somersault; her eyes moved over him like hawks seeking prey. He smiled like Elvis, which he had mastered by studying the photograph in the paper and had cut it out and sellotaped it to his wall. Didn't know you were going to meet me, Fay said, thought you said you were busy. Benedict smiled. Wanted to surprise you, he said. Did you run home from school to get here by this time? No, got the bus, he said. She touched his arm with her thin fingers, felt the cloth of his school blazer. He looked at her; took in her fair hair, straight, but pinned at the sides with hair slides; at her eyes that were as pure as silk; at her features that he wanted to capture in his mind so he could conjure up in bed at night when he found it hard to dream about her. She looked past him, making sure her father-who didn't like Benedict- wasn't around; making sure that her father wasn't amongst the crowd across the way or in a passing bus. They walked back towards the flats together, side by side, hands not touching, but close, near touching. She told him of her day at school, about the Italian nun and the words that she had captured that day in R.E lesson. Salvation? he said, taking the word and moving it around his head and mouth like a puzzle to be solved. Sounds like something you put on if you've got a sore spot, he said. She smiled. It means saving our souls from sin and the consequences of sin, she said. They walked down the subway side by side, the words echoing along the walls. He looked at her as they walked, his hand near touching hers. Sins? What are they when they're at home? he asked, probably knowing the answer, but wanting her to say. Violation of God's will, she said. Violating our relationship with God, she added. He allowed his knuckles to brush against hers gently, letting her words float about his ears. Violate God's will? He said. She nodded. Defy, God's will, she said. Mm-mm, Benedict said, got you. Whether he had or not, Fay had no idea, she sensed his knuckles brush against hers, gentle, soft, skin on skin. They came out into the late afternoon sunlight, on to the New Kent Road, passed the Trocadero cinema, their hands brushing close. Changing the subject, before Fay could venture further into the words, he said, do you anything about periods? She stopped by the entrance to the cinema and gazed at him. Periods of what? History? Geographical times of changes? She said. No idea, a boy at school was talking about it, said his big sister was having her periods and was a dragon when she was, Benedict said, gazing past, Fay, at the photographs in the framed areas inside the cinema walls. She blushed, looked at the photographs, too. How old are you, Benny? She said. Same as you, twelve, he replied, taking in the photo of a cowboy, at how the cowboy had his guns set in his holster. And you don't know? she said, shyly, looking at him, blushing. He tried to copy the cowboy's stance ready to draw his imaginary gun from imaginary holster. No idea, he said, looking at her briefly before gazing at another photo. What do you learn in biology? she asked. O usual ******* about plants and sunlight and butterflies and bees and so on, he said. About butterflies or birds, then? he said, taking in the cowboy's stance again. Yes, she said quickly, not wanting to elaborate further.  They walked on passed the cinema and the used car area and walked over the bomb site towards Meadow Row. So what's the connection between this kid's sister and ****** birds or butterflies and periods? Benedict asked. She shrugged and smiled. Ask your mum, she said, she might know. He smiled, leaned down, picked up a few stones from the bomb site for ammunition for his catapult later, guess so, he added, taking in her blushing features. They paused half way across the bomb site and stared at the the coal wharf where a few stragglers of coal men loaded up the lorries and wagons again for last bit of business. He wanted to kiss her, but didn't want to take the liberty of just plunging his lips on her cheek as he'd seen them do in the cowboy films. She watched the coal men at work. She sensed him beside her, his closeness, his hand brushing against hers, skin on skin, flesh touching flesh, but she didn't want her father to see her touching Benedict's hand, because he'd go mad at her. I  want you to focus on your school work and what the nuns tell you about matters, not gallivanting with the likes of him, he said last time he saw her with Benedict, even though they lived in the same blocks of flats, he downstairs and she upstairs. Likes of him? What did that mean? She mused, looking away from the coal men and taking in Benedict beside her. God knows what her father would say if she kissed Benedict and he saw them. A few years ago he would have spanked her, but nowadays he just threatens her with it. Benedict turned and looked at her. Are you coming to the cinema for Saturday's matinee? Don't know; depends, she said. Depends on what? he asked. My dad and what he's up to and if he'll let me, she said. She paused, looked past Benedict to see if her father might be around. What's wrong with Saturday matinee? Benedict asked. She looked at him. Daddy thinks it's sinful to stare at those kind of films, although he did take us to see the Ten Commandments with Yul Bryner and Charlton Heston  a few years ago, she said. But you've been with me before, Benedict said. I know but only if Daddy's away on business or is away on religious retreat. Benedict raised his eyebrows and pulled a face and pouted his lips. She smiled. See what I can do, she said, looking over at Meadow Row making sure her father wasn't in sight. He wanted to kiss her, but didn't want just to plunge at her as he'd seen them do at the cinema, but what to do? She gazed at him, her body tingling for reasons she couldn't fathom. Best get home I suppose, she said, in case Daddy's there wondering where I've got to. They walked on across the bomb site slowly. Could I? He asked, pausing by the wall of  bombed out house. Could you what? Fay asked. Benedict looked at her. Kiss your cheek? She blushed and looked around her then back at Benedict. Why would you want to kiss my cheek? She asked. I've seen cowboys do it to women in films I just wondered what it was like, he said. Is that all? she said. All what? He said. That reason? She said. No, he said, looking past at the coal wharf, I like you a lot, wanted to show you how by kissing you. She felt out on a limb, beyond her comfort zone, yet something about it seemed satisfying, the gesture, the idea, the reason he wanted to kiss at all. She knew she was blushing, knew that her body was reacting in away unknown to her before. She looked across at Meadow Row, at the people passing over the way. Do I dare? She asked herself. What if Daddy sees? Not here, she said, maybe on the staircase of the flats if no one is around. He nodded, looked at her, touched her right hand, warm, silky soft. He wasn't sure of himself as he usually was; felt as if he were in bandit country and bad cowboys were at large. They walked on down Meadow Row, passed the public house with doors open and the smell of beer and a piano playing out of tune, passed houses and the crossed over by the corner leading into Rockingham Street. Their hands were apart from each other just in case. Her father in her case and other boys seeing, in his case, thinking he was breaking the schoolboy code into cissiness. They walked up the ***** and into the Square and walked towards the block of flats where they lived. She talked about Sister Bonaventure and sin and he talked about the boy's sister's period problem whatever it was. Half way up the second staircase landing they paused. Now? He asked. She looked up the stairs then down. Ok, she said softly. He kissed her cheek, damp, soft. She looked at him, then for reasons she didn't know she drew him to her and kissed his lips, then let him go. What happened to her or him they didn't understand just felt the inner glow.

Do you ever think of the world?
On a larger scale than Charlton, Massachusetts, I mean.
Larger than our lives. Larger than our country. Larger, even, than our time.
Do you ever think of all of it?
Try it. Try, for a second.
How does it feel? To look back on and forward to and in and around and about everything?
Your mind can’t always hold it all, as it is.
Thinking of everything, even for a second, forces you to expand, change.
There’s this sadness to it, almost a tangible thing,
That settles in the air around you like dust caught in a shaft of bright sunlight.
It’s like someone’s thrown the curtains open on your darkened mind.
It feels odd, doesn’t it? To see it all from such a detached perspective.
Or perhaps not detached at all. Perhaps it’s the most personal thing you’ve ever thought of,
The deepest into yourself you’ve ever looked.
You live, think-speak-cry-breathe-walk-love-want, all the time.
Have you ever stopped to think about it? Have you ever considered the place in which you exist?
The people around you, the people who do the same, in such different ways,
Who don’t notice what you didn’t notice until I just asked you to think of it.
Do you ever feel it all? Dare to open your mind and let the world rush in?
Have you ever watched a sad movie and cried, but realized that you were crying over something much larger and much sadder than you thought?
Have you ever tasted empathy on a global scale?
On an impossible, ancient, mindshattering scale?
Dipped a toe into what it feels like to live outside of yourself?

WAY outside.

So far away from you and your own limitations that it’s as if you don’t exist.
I believe that we are everything our minds can hold.
Everything we can conceive of and understand, we ARE.
That is the beauty of being human- there’s no end to how vast you can be if you decide to.
If you fling open the doors to your mind, there will be no difference between you
And everything.
That is the feeling it is so impossible to describe, that I feel so very often without a word to name it.
It is the want, the need, the hunger to BE everything.
To mix and meld with the world and everything in it.
To blur the edges of myself until there are no edges.
That is what I want, and you want it too, we all do,
It is a human feeling,
Perhaps THE human feeling.
The mysterious difference that separates us from every other creature that exists.
We want to know everything.
Not just to analyze it, but to take it into ourselves on a deeper level than emotion or science.
Something primal tells us that we must learn-
Not in order to survive, not to exist and procreate, but to live.
It is something that, over the years of technology and reality tv, has lost its name, its word.
But it has never lost its potency.
It lives in all of us, even when we deny it.
A craving to be connected to every little thing in the entire universe.
Not to possess it all,
But to touch it and have it touch us.
To change it and be changed by it.

I think that maybe this feeling is what makes us special as a race.
Let’s not lose it to mundane lives and comforting inertia.

Bacon
I would awaken to the scent of bacon,
The kind of bacon you’d be making always left me shaking and aching,
Quaking, for some more of that bacon.

I’m not mistaken, that bacon was for my taking,
when I woke up on kings row like Ronald Reagan,
And the misshapen stains of bacon dripped down your apron,
Like water down the side of a water basin.

You see that bacon left me complacent,
To know I’d tasted god made bacon,
It gave me infinite dreams like iron maiden,
A feeling I could not be faking.

But one day I woke a little shaken,
The absence of the scent of bacon. left me broken and forsaken with the ever relenting aching of a lack of bacon as though Satan would be complacent and end the lack of bacon fuelled motivation

Cause you left me for him, and now I’m breaking,
There’s no longer the scent of you, or your bacon
And he’s lucky, cause what he’s got is amazing
He’s not taking the cake
Nah he’s taking the bacon.

By Thomas Charlton

502 bad gateway byways short:

Paul's *** never
favoured itself as a prized
asset for making
gazpacho...

this is not an album review per se, that's just the cover, my true intentions for writing this come after... but at the same time: it's a thought experiment - concerning attention spanning... if i continued down the path of being my own pretend radio DJ... listening to songs from as many possible artists i'd lose track of the beauty of listening to an entire album in one sitting... i find that most people these days are unable to listen to an entire album by one artist... it's difficult... i can give an example of one album that trained me to be patient... my father was a big fan of King Crimson... in the Court of the Crimson King is always the album i go back to to regain my concentration skills when it comes to something i haven't heard before...

the first few words will be difficult...
      i'm just not feeling them...
                  i left my feelings elsewhere...
i'm already elsewhere...
    it's truly impossible to make music this good...
what was the album i listened
to last... when all of the opening 5 songs i really
liked? there's usually a high...
   then some middle ground... some low with
a ballad or equivalent... perhaps a stadium filler
anthem: most of Queen's stuff was the latter...

1. holy peak
   2. television
     3. small dogs
       4. i've had enough
         5. ambition...         o.k. fair enough
     this is the first track that i'm not feeling...
but after four tracks that pumped me up...
i need to slow down with the hype... fair enough...
          
now i'll need to take a break so that the music
will catch up with me writing this...
thankfully there's that glass of sharpshooter whiskey
and pepsi and a cigarette about to be lodged between
the index and *******: and the coolness
of the night...

            6. dance macabre - also a welcome interlude...
sort of reminds of the madness of Gong's
flying teapot (radio gnome invisible part 1)...
    during the time i was dating this Russian girl
and every time i put this record on: she freaked
out and told me to turn it off...
                  that's almost like this one guy i knew
and when i put on Greenskeepers song Lotion on
he would immediately tell me turn it off...
so much for adventurous stoners...

   7. valley of the dolls... a song trying to regain
energy... this is the moment in the album
i was reflecting on the prior two songs...
but come...

  8. stars wars... we're back to the energy of the first
four songs... the bass has become relevant once
more...

   the album will finish with two cover songs...
a Bob Marley and a Serge Gainsbourg songs...
i haven't heard them yet... so i can't say: refill!
need more ice... this heat-wave isn't helping anyone...
at least in winter you perhaps wake up shocked
to wake up in the dark in the morning...
but at least you don't wake up exhausted...
there's only one plus of this heat-wave...
a lack of appetite... what did i eat today?
two eggs on two pancakes...
                                     and... a mixed berry milkshake...

mind you... i also made raspberry sorbet...
but clearly people have got it all wrong
when it comes to sorbet recipes...
i'm so glad i didn't follow it to the exactness...
people use too much sugar...
clearly:

250g of sugar
250ml of water... the sugar is to be melted
    in the water... the was: obviously heated...
juice of half a lemon
400g of raspberries...

i didn't use 250g of sugar...
i must have used about 200g but i wish i used
even less...
and i didn't use half a lemon...
i used the juice of two lemons...
and i didn't use 400g of raspberries...
after tasting the slush... i decided to blitz
up probably another 100g of raspberries: if not more...

sorbet shouldn't be sweet... it should be tangy...

9. get up, stand up... well clearly it isn't
a reggae cover... it's a new wave take on reggae...
   it is what it is...

10. moi non plus...
                  i do know all about the ad hominem
response toward ol' Serge... i'll be honest...
               i'm not that familiar with his music...
                      refill...
well... walking back up the stairs was rather
interesting... now i have to listen to the original...
but not yet... the best part being:
REWIND...

track 1...holy peak... twice on repeat...
                now i'm satisfied... i couldn't rewind
on that song alone haven't i listened to the whole
album... that was great... 40 minutes well spent...
hmm... new wave post-punk has always been
my place to go: the origins of punk are...
3 chords? 3 minute songs?
           music for people with short-attention spans...
just like i could never get into rap...
hip-hop: sampling jazz: yes...
                                    death metal too... i can't stand
that ****...

no to lift my mood concerning what i was actually
going to write about...
Faun - Seemann
   the night is looking ****...
                        that rhubarb and strawberry cake
i baked today was also sort of ****...
plus the added sorbet... but on a Sunday as hot
as it was today: what else is there to do?
perhaps watch the World Athletics...
                     oh man... i'm dreading working
the shift at Wembley for the Women's Euro finals...

i don't have a problem with female tennis:
i actually enjoy it more than men's tennis...
i remember a time before the great trinity arrived
that male tennis was all about the serve...
hardly any ******* rallies...
                 yawn...
                          but women's tennis was always more
interesting: for me, at least...
and the "asexuality" of the Olympics was always
appealing...
                but... pushing this ******* agenda
of: women will be as great footballers as men sort of
shakes the myths associated with names
according to Bobby Charlton... Pele... Maradonna...
any other sport... but not football...
not rugby... not boxing...

                tennis is a ladies game... it's beautiful!
golf is boring for either party: i don't see what the big
joke is: except i do... when Robin Williams explained
the invention of golf...
the stats are in... what's troubling is how people
love to lie to themselves...
sure... perhaps in Spain: where the women's Barcelona
team can fill the Camp Nou: unlike in club football
in England where the only people attending are...
small children... friends and family and "empowered"
women...

that's why at female football matches
people with S.I.A. licenses are not given shifts...
no one expects trouble at a woman's football match...
you have too many children...
not enough rowdy teenage boys...
so the risk of violence is minimal...
                     i don't get it...
   women had access to sport... they always did...
they also had access to literature:
who did Marquis de Sade write for? men?
i don't think so...
                     but certain sports are certain sports...
how many sports are there in the Olympics?!
i'm not even bother counting...

so i was watching this World Athletic Championship
today...
hmm... those heptathlon athletes look pretty...
snap of the figure: the idea is gone...
because i stop focusing on the women
and focus on what they're doing...
the same with tennis...
                 ****... Eugenie Bouchard /
   Monica Puig is playing...              i can't....
     concentrate... snap of the fingers...
                       the initial idea is gone... i focus on the tennis...
when i watch a women's football match...
those knee-long socks...
sure... they're not playing in skirts... but in shorts...
but... in England schoolgirls do wear those long
white socks...
                too much ******* hair in the air...
i don't watch women's football for the football:
i watch women's football for the women...
plain as a lost shadow come noon
   on a desert platitude...

let's face it... there are areas where women excel
beyond any man...
gymnastic and ballet...
men are props in ballet...
       tarty-socked-up buffons...
              a sort of Spinal Tap spin-off...
but gymnastic? the agility: the pliability
of their bodies... men's bodies are rigid-strength
structures... in gymnastics a woman's entire
body is used... in the case of man?
his prowess: his upper body strength...

are women's bones made from chewing gum
or something? or are they actually possessed
with an exoskeleton?
i guess girls that aspire to be footballers
only wished to be able to play football with
the boys in school... but the boys said no...
so the girls were like: Mr. Big Brother!
give us a league! give us a league!

but they're so... "unattractive" in their pursuit...
given: looking at the crowd that attends...
thank god this is not the world cup...
i'd hate to have to spot my favourite female
player... what?! because she plays fantastic football?
Hazard player fantastic football at Chelsea...
moving to Real Madrid ruined the poor sod...
i'm talking about...

Alexandria Morgan... football? eh? there's a pitch?
there's a stadium? there are two goals?
what are you talking about?
   i'm not here for the football...
                  ANY OTHER SPORT...
South Korean women at the Olympics in the sport
of archery...
yes... i know it's a woman...
but look at her skills...
     football is hot-wired into a man's head that:
women shouldn't...
i don't care... Alexandria Megan and... something's moving
or something's not moving...

too much history with football hooliganism...
in a time when people are indoctrinated
into what football team they support...
******* club tattoos...
                a grandfather takes his son to a football
match: fanaticism...
and then the father takes the grandson to the football
match: cycle - on repeat...
not all sports... seriously... not all sports...
it just can't be done... otherwise i just switch off...

it's not like girls are inspired by ballerinas or
gymnasts... but apparently some are...
there's nothing inspiring about women football players...
the attendance statistics prove just as much...
it's a niche mentality... pre- or post- feminist?
when is this tirade of a "philosophy" of:

one shoe fits all: unus calceus omnis vicium
going to end?
isn't there one?! feminism ought to be a prefix...
because it's a meat-grinder of ideas...
there's always going to be a counter
to say... existentialism...
there's going to be feminist-existentialism...
the feminist-enlightenment...
the feminist-stoicism...
  the feminist-cynicism...
the feminist-Platonism...
             catch me if you sort of mentality?!

as a teenager i used to dream about women...
i woke up between the ages of 13 and 16
and be like...
Valentine's Day... stop there! coward!
you're brining roses for Janina today...
in art class... Janina became a face i wanted to sketch...
and i did... it was a sketch...
eyes as shapes... the presupposed sclera...
but no pupil and certainly no iris...
peering into a mirror with her as an old woman...
Gemma was another i asked a photograph
off so i could sketch her...

all: worth: jack: ****!
         so i cured myself of woman with women,
with prostitutes...
  now? it should be the song Freebird...
but it's Sweet Home Alabama and me thinking:
cinema *****... a tight ***...
cinema ***** a tight ***...
               i still love... with a grave to distance me
and a "her" apart...
    because if coffee dates are so stupid...
if art gallery and cinema dates are so stupid...
i'm not willing to pay for food and a maybe...
go straight down the river and pay for the ***...
at least: chances are...
she might like you so much
that she'll let you try ******* for the very first
time aged 36...  and you're like...
well that was ****... i'll gladly return
to my cup of coffee and a cigarette for...
this snorting paracetamol is doing **** all for me...

AND I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT
WHAT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT...
thank you... Thomas Bunce... my English teacher:
he used to teach English via way of digression...
what grammar i handle is my own self-taught...
he had the principle:
if you can write like you speak... you're good to go...
but... he didn't really state that:
you can also write like you think:
and never speak like you think...
which is why writing is a two-edged sword...
i don't even know how to write like i speak:
i write like i think...
and i never speak like i think...
so writing is a "third-man" dimension of me...

HELL... I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT
WHAT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT...
maybe now: here's my chance...
yes... it begins with the Roman poets' overtones
of conversation, casual:
nothing modern: over-exasperated
performance propaganda related:
western-leftist ideology:
      i come from a sturdy stock...
it took **** Germany and Soviet Russian
longer to conquer Poland than it took
**** Germany alone to conquer France...

and? i have no sympathy for the Ukrainians...
zilch... their Cossack uprising undermined
the concept that was the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth...
you can only take so much...
Swedes from the north...
the Ottoman Turks from the south...
  German mercenaries from the west...
Russian tickling from the east...
                IF it was so ******* bad?
you get what you deserved... no?
that's why i will never get a tattoo on my body...
i have plenty of historical dates
to be mindful of...
          1648 - the Khmelnytsky uprising...
what?! in England people celebrate one date in
particular... 1066...
weird date to remember and celebrate...
while all prior Viking invasions failed...
  this Viking invasion actually succeeded...
and it's... ******* celebrated...
                    i remember when i was wronged:
not when i was conquered...
or at least a fraction of me...

                  I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT WHAT
I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT!

digression... the best momentum for writing:
and drinking...
but of course i know what drinking alone
does to people...
my grandfather, my best friend...
the man i went foraging for mushrooms with...
the man i went cycling with to the lakes...
the rivers... the man i walked our Alsatian
with... the man i played golf with...
the men i went sight-seeing Cracow:
Warsaw? cool name... probably beats
Bangkok... it's a saw-of-war...
                      who went fishing with me at am...
he was an alcoholic...
me? i charge my drinking into writing...
i drink and i write...
i contain the beast...
   he didn't... he drank for the sake of drinking...
i remember him ******* his trousers...
behaving like a lunatic... he couldn't keep control...
me? i have an elephant's memory...
someone tells me i did something...
i usually have written proof: no i didn't...
i was writing: THIS...
alcoholism is painful if you don't have a creative
output... i wouldn't recommend alcoholism
to anyone who doesn't have any outlet in
writing or painting...
i did an NVQ 2 course concerning crowd safety:
oh man... the return to the formality
of language to gain some bogus qualification...
drinking while taking this course
would be painful: the unoriginality of language
was unbearable...
but i wept through it....
   "wept"...

I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT WHAT I WANTED
TO WRITE ABOUT!
when is this digress mechanism going to end...
is there a PRESS: THE END button anywhere?!

i'll try to pretend...
that this is the end...

                                                 right... breath... a long:
carrying breath... both body and soul...
   ambo corpus et anima... et spiritus-visus...

come 3am i ought to be sleeping...

so... i came across the garden come 11pm...
needing to be fed water...
i wish i owned cattle... flowers are plenty...
Sim... one door down came out...
with a black bag... how many rats did you kills?
i killed about 5... perhaps 6...
a narrative starting running in my mind...
i thought he thought: who's watering that garden
tonight? oh... it's Matthew...
it's not Miroslav...

                                   i drank a Beck's... smoked
a cigarette... started to water the garden in the cool
cold night of repose...
right...                 problem...
            i should have been a painter...
            the Walter Sickert exhibition really impressed me...
the early works and the nudes...
who isn't impressed by a painter's nudes?
so i'm watering the garden... a light comes on in
the bathroom of my neighbours' house one door down...

what's that term? for the glass? used in bathrooms?!
obscured... obscuring glass...
as if glass and water mingled...
or as if glass and water and air and fog were mingling...
i could see a shape...
at first i thought: oh ****... it's their mother...
but then i waited for a while...
the... the... i don't purposively "forget" nouns...
some nouns are just not practical:
i'm not about to use them!
  Heidegger's hammer metaphor shouldn't be solely
concerning: two labourers talking about philosophy
while labouring...
it should also be concerning:
two intellectual forgetting nouns...
allocating sign-language to explain...
that fidgety-"thing"... you know... i know?!
they... close door... language anti-verb all hieroglyphic
noun! OWL = NIGHT OPEN SLEEP....
that sort of *******...

        i'm drinking and i'm ***** again...
the glass used for windows of toilets...
what's her name again? i know she's Indian...
that's tragic... i have an oyster's spot of Indian and Turkish girls...
there comes a madness i can't control...
i hyper-focus on raven hair...
i used to hyper-focus on blonde hair:
enough blonde-hair rejections cured me of my childhood
past... now? i just own a blonde moustache...

in the gilded cage of the glass that's used for bathroom
windows...
she looked like a big girl...
at first i thought i was looking at her mother
washing herself... but then again: the "LUFCZIK"
was wide open... after she took her shower
she started pandering herself... applying cream
to her body... she raised her hands up...
ah... the most ****** aspect of a woman's body:
her hands...
i tend to look at a woman's hand's first...
hello: handshake-Geisha...
i count the arithmetic of knuckles...
girl: you must be missing my pinky knuckle...
i see... by the size of either of your hands
that i have the index, the middle and the ring fingers...
but you're missing the pinky extension...

clever Ovid: i might be envious of the "esteem"
of other men... but in your hands...
i'm: normal...
     "expected"....
                    i was supposed to water the garden...
i was... watering the garden...
but i took breaks...
it wasn't a pretty outline...
she looked like a ++ girls... bulging...
a beached whale type... contorts of her *******
as she detailed them with hand movements
making it necessary for them to be nurished
with moisture...
                   of cream of coconuts...
               this Sikh girl is my kind of stuffing...
i'll go mad for anything with her sort of
olive-complexion... with raven hair...
with eyes that discuss the origins of
                               the Sahara desert as:
once upon a time being an extensive mountain range...

i succumbed to a: pinguis-caput...
   fat head...
                 a headache without a headache...
my head was bulging...
                what's caput in ******?
that's it!
                   that's what it means...
so i'm watching her...
what do i see... her hands raised...
tender little Geisha "oopses"...
silver bracelet... to boot...
this glass is not a mirror...
                         contorts of her hair...
her torso... i best have been born a painter...
her ******* as she olives up...
i get drunk on the mere idea of drinking...

she looks like a big girl in the glass...
that's supposed to not invite onlookers...
i shouldn't be the one watering the garden...
not when she's taking a shower...
she's taking for ages...
i can wait...

           and she looks purposively:
she's pressing her ******* and ***
against the glass...
                                  it's like the universe
inverted upon itself, no?
i don't feel inclined to ingest
more hard-core *******...
i'm seeking subtler "stuff"...
                          something more mythical...
hide a naked body behind a strange glee
of glass... but just expose the hands...
the hands of a woman...
            modern ******* is a turn-off for me...
i'm always wanting to turn today
Italian classics... this modern "****"?
there's no float, there's no boat...
it's all sink... sink... sink...

                i was watering the flowers!
but she took almost 40 minutes out of my life
oiling herself!
                i'm thinking: the love of a brother for her sister...
when your sister is unwanted by other men....
and you need to find... an outlet: equivalent of
the qualification of man: to accept your sister?!

it takes me 1 litre of whiskey to fall asleep...
but i need to write first... concentrate...
my grandfather was an alcoholic too...
but... he didn't write under the influence...
           i can't imagine drinking without writing...
without...
            my god... her ******* seem so enlarged...
her torso... i wish i were a painter...
thank god there's no painting in existence
concerning what i saw...
mein! mein alles! my! my all!

at least my garden is illuminated...
all demons welcome...
                                      i don't even think i can
ever be "bored": i'm just the best "side" of...
"soaked" in what's exacting: soaking...
            a bite into an orange...
a bite into a watermelon...
                                      a wetted beard is easier
to brush with a comb...
                                    cats don't behave like dogs
should you have a rat problem.

lets say goodbye to bobby a football star was he
a very gentle man as gentle as can be
legend of a player and football history
with super football skill for the world to see

played for man united got to them to the top
trophy after trophy the  just didnt stop
known around the world to each and every one
gone but not forgotten his name goes marching on

a legend of a man he will always stay
what he did for football will never go away
lets say goodbye to bobby send him all our love
on the football field in heaven up above

tribute to a legend and gentlemen
R.I.P BOBBY

Then the magic Leo Lunar Fairy cast her greatest spell!

"Upon the old broken promise of circuses gone moldy by...
Charlton that you are, Dear King, now you can not tell near a lie!
I call it from far and wide, deep inside your filthy soul...
The hatred you see for others, you'll look in the mirror and be made whole.
For there lies your true hate, your hatred for yourself...
Nothing can save you from that, Dear Insane King, not even your extreme wealth!"

With the casting of her words a mist of stars swirling from her delicate hands. The spell was cast. The Insane King could not tell a lie when he gave his speech to his great Land.
-----------------------
Book of Tibbar
Tibbar Dwarfitelf
by T L H Joyner

There was once a game that was played on grass,
on a Saturday at three pm .
Or up for the cup ,
beneath flood lit lights on a Wednesday at half past seven .
No sky tv ,
no Thursday nights ,
not even Friday or Sunday afternoon.

The keeper wore green ,or yellow or white , or even blue ,
not pink or purple or orange .

You could pass the ball back from the half way line,
to the keeper who would take his time ,
to pick up a white ball and thump it .

No VAR ,
to screwtenise ,
the players every move .
  No stockings worn by players or mits or muffins or gloves .
No nice green lawns which never flood ,
so teams come off caked in mud and blood after ninety minutes .

Not even women screeching commentators getting excited all the time .
There’s no John Motson ,
no more Brian Moore ,
no sportsnight,
watching highlights with bleary eyes at what seems like midnight ,
in you’re pjs with coco before bed time .
Spotlights shone on cold Highbury nights of Armstrong ,
Ball , Charlton or Best .
For there are no turnstiles at White hart lane ,
pay as you enter ,
never quite the same.
So here’s to sky and bt for spoiling a game once full of romance ,
will it ever be the same ?