eh, you wake up in the morning,
you hear the work-bell ring,
n' i march you to the table!
to see the same ol' thing.

ain' no food upon the table,
n' no... something something...
cos' you better not complain boy,
you'll get in trouble with the man...

let the midnight special,
     shine a light on me...
let the midnight special,
           shine a de Wallen red light on me -

cos Soho turned amber to all things queer,
and with queer turned all the stoppage
lights gearing you up to marriage a full
ahead go -
                              or in alt. castrated pop of
the Vatican **** charts - some sang some
other traffic coordination -

cos Soho sang of the green pristine ironed shirts
and the 9 and 5 daily tortoise and
birds - once it was the bees and the birds -
now it was all about birds and worms -
Soho my man, is all queer to mind you,
extortion on real estate and ****** -
but what if i paid with a diamond clad ****?
or cut my organic one off and used a *****,
half price?
                        i'd vote in solely for de wallen
section of Amsterdam, **** those little hubs
of quasi-hippies toking the cool off a joint...
i didn't go there for the cafes, i went for the brothel
cubicles...
                  ha                         ­     ha.

now, please understand me, i can understand a date
being a walk in a park, a promenade,
i understand the French concept of dating - coordinating,
walking and talk, an Islamic calendar month of binge eating
at sunset without recitation
from the book- but all this cinema,
this restaurant and drinks?
how about just a walk and talk session girl?
because, boy, you're so ******* outdated - i'd prefer
watching horror movies in a thunderstorm with lightning,
at least i'd be part of the Addam's family of Scottish Economy...

promenade! promenade with me! the airy bit of it all,
i'll have your oyster platter if i'm "sulking" an empty
stomach, and your words bouncing off inanimate things
while we seem to be walking parallel tangos,
but end up in the crypt of Caduceus.

i never finished the Soho song about the area being that
of privileged queers, and de Wallen known to the English
being shame alley - well... you should have heard the laugh
of that bubbly Puerto Rican girl... 'you know how
many i have had in me?'
what? tongues, i'm guessing the first.

i still don't know how to vote this out -
if i'd vote out, Soho couldn't compensate me,
if i'd vote in, at least de Wallen would -
well, given the statistics, i rather walk and talk
like some Aristotle tutorial -
rather than sit on my **** in a suburban semi-detached
before a television waiting for dementia.

it's this mentality of the old guard: rekindling the Renaissance of the 1950s and 1960s... they're the originators of English, but the last to receive it... their frustrations against Europe are frustrations against being antiques in the anglophile world dynamics... they're Victorian antiques in a silicon valley of usurped hopes... the easiest route is to blame the Romanian than the Californian... the Empire is long gone and there's nothing to bring it all back... hence the culinary fascination and the need to obstruct morality with plastic surgery... they actually hate American accents (after being saturated with American culture) more than French or Germany variations... i know they do because i came to hating them as much as they do... "they" isn't paranoid: the English! we're getting so much American culture it's only natural that we shun the everyday American accenting of what used to be posh bargaining of Oxford in Harvard... globalisation is another word for a monochromatic adjunct.*

2 Texans looking for
de Wallen in Soho...
              London ain't no
Amsterdam:
  Russian oligarch said:
head to Dubai for answers...
    and so they built
the Zeno towers...
              how they never
reveal little mid-western
America to Europe,
the Harvard ponces are ashamed
of dialects -
     American dialect as in
non-celebratory Scoot -
                  aye            -ish
                         but never the redneck
in 'ollywood
                                   how how how -
never the true believers...
we welcome Disney every day,
we get culturally *****, every day,
you think we like Americans?
   we don't...
we're like the Vietnamese...
                    we threw the Jews out,
but the Muslims came...
              we didn't like that...
the Americans became the equivalent of
Jews...
               the English became the
two-faced concierge -
          we loved the cultural ****...
but when we heard American accents
we thought: thanks for the atom bomb
neurosis! the oh-oops message spreading
to North Korea... hey! you dropped
one first! why tell other people
to not do it?! at least the French
tested in aqua-insulators with Godzilla...
you tested the ******* thing in deserts...
oh sure... we love American cultural
exports...
                 we see a Texan in Soho
after a few drinks we're thinking:
                                                 lynch the
*******.
                          it's this disparity of
being fed a culture that represents
            the lowest ebb of pronunciation...
even the northerners in England
hate American accents more than Cockney;
are these plebs feeding us
the zeitgeist? seriously?
        they can't be serious...
                    they have enough enough
actors to be acclaimed as foreign affairs
policy makers by censoring the diversity
of the rainbow of American accents...
   even a Croat accent in English
         (famously part of a football team)
doesn't seem so annoying as a
    niche American accent spoken to
an Englishman...
            Texan for one...
                     hybrid Californian another...
Mid-Western and even though
i'm not English i'm titillated by
donning a red coat.

Donkere sneeuw valt op en in
jouw hoofd.
Als ik het twee maanden
geleden had voorspeld,
had niemand me geloofd.
Het is een soort die niet smelt,
ophoopt en je geest verdooft.
Hij blijft maar vallen,
soms wat meer, soms wat minder.
We zien dat aan jouw wallen.
Toch ondervinden wij
in steeds grotere mate hinder
en vragen we ons af:
'Wat vind jij?'

Oh Sophie, no Sophie
So sorry, you left
crystal blue persuasions
No warning, you left
my coral feet reefed, fleeting
for cold fired bricks streets,
in heels on the walls, well lit
Too bright for you to see:
these red lit walls

and Sophie, do recall
better moons saw, my heart
teeming with an ambient glow
in our seasons, when we lay
on the hills of Soufrière
So extravagant those eruptions
You trembled when lava poured
freely into the Port of Amsterdam
No walls, no *****.... Sophie?

How, my dutch, now?
These red lit walls,
so lewd and menstruating
stands as glass windows between us
and these strong, macho *****
forged with Finish arms,
like Heini Koivuniemi look-alikes
muscling my heavenly pleas
to the hellish red walls in De Wallen

sat in the intersection till the light went red,
too busy looking at you instead,
you turned to me in your blackout frames
and laughed as you said my name

there we stood in the dead of night
cups of whiskey in the pale moonlight
saw you smile from behind your glass
as you said you’d marry me with a laugh

and I know it was probably just a joke
but I swear I felt it when you kissed me
never wanted you to let me go,
wrapped up in arms that felt like home

slept away half the day
tangled up in hills of grey
boots next to yours under your bed
picture of you dancing in my head

now I know Wallen said it best
when he said loving a cowboy is different than the rest
I’ve tasted your laugh and you've tasted my pain
now that I’ve loved a cowboy, how could I ever be the same?

Heart Aches
21 August 2023

Dreaming, flying, fallen
Aging all alone.
Talking garden’s wallen,
Building empty home.
Awaiting day of sunshine.
Bottle empty wine.
Holding one now dying,
Loving never shown.