your cataclysms & catechisms
rebound from obliques
creep around the crypts
of martyrdom
as age seeps
into the pores of herstory
you watch valentino
pilot the vessel to anchorage
on the deck moments before
the fetid stench
of the blueberg
arrives at its destination
no one cries nor wails
in the silence of depravity
or under the lash
of the barbarian hordes
innocence is mutilated
around a flaming cross
watching bigotry flirt tempestuously
with fascism
the axis of impartiality
tilts in your favour once more
as garbo spits in the face
of farcical royalty
on a boulevard of decayed dreams
behind drawn shades
lying amongst glittering opiates
lays the naked queen
tarnished & jaded
in the travelling show
you swallow snakes & swords
nurturing the infidels
the man with forked tongue
rides the chariot across the plain
laughing gaily
as he slaughters tapestry
& on the spectacular night
you triumph again reborn
a star set in lava
as pompeii rains supreme
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Philosophies Of A Leper In Many Small Parts
back into the mausoleum
you step
tears about to give liquid life
to no meaning at all
exchanging pleasantries
is the most insinuous
form of biological warfare
count all the bad things iv done
all the lives iv trampled
put them on your tally board
reckon where i kneel
in the cuntbastards sweepstakes
that smell isnt at all like death
its more like life routinely bleeding
away
i am rotten to the core
all disease
becomes inherent to me
i feel as if iv given you a life sentence
in a well-provisioned cell
perhaps you should grow your hair longer?
when will misery
cease being your mistress
nothing evolves bar shadows
which draw longer
as oxygen is strangled
all days end – nights continue
ties broken remain unhealed
as time sidesteps your bad grace & inadequate posturing
where the light does not fall
is where you grow
electrical tape wont bind that incision
invariably my eyes always turn up
where i last saw them
staring at me murderously
the pioneers stole
so that they could reap before theyd sown
i volunteered to be god for a day yesterday
but at the station it turned out
id forgotten my cross
you step
tears about to give liquid life
to no meaning at all
exchanging pleasantries
is the most insinuous
form of biological warfare
count all the bad things iv done
all the lives iv trampled
put them on your tally board
reckon where i kneel
in the cuntbastards sweepstakes
that smell isnt at all like death
its more like life routinely bleeding
away
i am rotten to the core
all disease
becomes inherent to me
i feel as if iv given you a life sentence
in a well-provisioned cell
perhaps you should grow your hair longer?
when will misery
cease being your mistress
nothing evolves bar shadows
which draw longer
as oxygen is strangled
all days end – nights continue
ties broken remain unhealed
as time sidesteps your bad grace & inadequate posturing
where the light does not fall
is where you grow
electrical tape wont bind that incision
invariably my eyes always turn up
where i last saw them
staring at me murderously
the pioneers stole
so that they could reap before theyd sown
i volunteered to be god for a day yesterday
but at the station it turned out
id forgotten my cross
Friday, July 16, 2010
queen vic knives
teri louise kelly wandered into literature much the same way lee marvin used to wander into saloons. she came looking for a brawl. a self-taught anti-classroom heretic with a long and illustrious heritage stretching back to conquistadors and gypsies and she has invaded many lands and infected many species with her bad seed. the author of two memoirs and one poetry anthology - her latest book 'American Blow Job' is due for release by Paroxysm Press (Australia) as soon as its publisher is released from rehabilitation after taking a mandatory plea bargain over a failed urine sample at the Big Day Out. she refutes all knowledge of ever actually offering her work for publication and condones the use of happy hours as a remedial cure for everything from writer's block to the mother of all hangovers. she can be found therein regularly at 5.30pm waxing lyrical on the states of regression depression and consumption. she also plays bass guitar and has been known to ride a unicycle on occasion.
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Les Bitronica and Angel
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Tuesday, July 13, 2010
learn how to swim (but not at Luiz's school)
The brave new world of comprehensive nee amalgamated schooling came so quickly, that one minute the kids at Luiz's school had a know-everyone environment, and the next, an asphalt jungle - full of all manner of kids from thirty-odd other schools. Naturally, the pickings grew rich. It was a time of plenty, and in such a times, as young Mr. Attenborough will attest to, only the very weakest and very stupid found themselves a viable target. Predators grew fat and lazy when the going was easy. And given that Luiz was both weak and stupid, but not veryish in either trait, he enjoyed a golden age of hassle-free schooling and unmolested journeying. With all that dough rolling in the school elders decided that the great miniature unwashed should have a swimming pool. So before you knew it, it became a do-gooders frenzy of charitible activities while the brawny brainless kids from the tech blocks were given shovels and told to get busy digging under the watchful eyes of Alsation dogs. (Not German Shepherds).
Luiz had never eaten so much cake, even Mrs. Beeton herself would have admired his cake-gorging ability. Everywhere you looked, there was cake. The good ladies of Luiz's town were buying up flour wholesale. Odd that they would induce kids to gorge on cake, but maybe the fact they were building a very large swimming pool: indoor, heated, high boards, foot dips, meant that a few hundred chubby kids rendered docile on Victoria sandwich, made the whole kooky idea necessary to those higher up the cash river. Those who controlled the fiscal sluice gates of educationary budgets as it were. So the tech boys kept digging their way to China, the ladies kept their ovens on day and night, and in amongst the fetes and jamborees and beer and skittles nights they raised enough cash to not only commence building the best school swimming pool in the Union, but probably what they saw as the best damned swimming pool this side of the moon. Everyone was proud, even Luiz, though he seriously doubted it would ever be anything but a fifty-foot hole in the ground which would fill with muddy water eight-months of the year and claim about two-dozen lives per annum.
The English are not raised to be optimists.
And then Luiz fell out of a tree. Probably a result of eating all that cake as he'd never fallen out of one before. When he got home his mum told him that worse things happened at sea. Maybe if they'd lived at sea she would have said that worse things happen in trees. They say naff stuff like that because Englanders live on an island, an island with a population that from which, only about five percent even so much as dip a toe in the brine once a year. Trees however rarely get a rush on. Plus they can be chopped down. All of that aside, Luiz fell out of a tree onto a rubbish dump – from a tree that had maybe stood since before the first English king got executed or syphlitic and was now surounded by old electrical appliances, rusting bed frames, and rolled-up carpets. Have some cake his mum said, we've got plenty.
It'll all end in tears, or another polio epidemic his mum said later over yet more cake. She always fell onto the pessimistic side of the coin of the realm. Not Luiz's dad however, he was always on the practical side, proved adequately enough when he said: well, at least the boy'll get a wash twice a week, save on the goddamned electric bill here at least. There were the usual dissenters about the pool, but strangely, not about a tree being surrounded by discarded household waste. Naturally given that every town has it's 'anti-progress' movement there was a small floatilla of geriatric petitioners who believed that tin baths were good enough for them, so why not for modern kids, and they thus began a 'no pool' lobby group. Them aside, work pushed on with a gusto, and by the following autumn, low and behold, Luiz's school was the proud owner of a swimming pool that fair reeked of chlorine and the blood, sweat and tears of an army of sponge cakers, oh, and not forgetting the manual labour of fifty-odd retarded kids with long criminal careers and plenty of ditch digging ahead of them.
Even Luiz got into the swing of things, and not only him, a whole cement mixer full of other boys too, who all suddenly realised that it was the dawn of a new era of seeing girls all but naked. Then came the lists. Lists that all those parents who had supported the pool, now found highly inconvenient; shit like personal hygiene, cold sores, tinea, correct urination procedures, towels and bathers with name tags - disclosure and liability forms, swimming caps, goggles, floaties, the whole kit 'n' kaboodle associated with educational swimming facilities. Jesus, Luiz's dad groaned, all this stuff'll end up bankrupting me. Off everyone traipsed to the opening gala, where the great pool was to be officially opened by some ex-Commonwealth swimmer who'd once finished fifth in the Commonwealth games of 1848 or something. All the town's dignitaries and signatories were in attendance, along with parents and teachers, everyone in point of fact who was anyone, and naturally some people who weren't anyone at all but thought they ought to be.
After the opening ceremony there was to be an open lesson, the inaugral dip and all the years and classes had gone into a tombola and the winning class from a year two below Luiz's had prevailed. As they lined up on the pool deck most were fear laden. The closest most of them had been to water was a tin bath in front of their nan's fire. They were a ghastly sight - pale white sickroom specimens with ashen faces, like a swim team from Transylvania. The swim coach, Mr. Spitz was proudly walking around in way tight trunks that left less than little to even the most infertile imagination, proudly blowing on his whistle while a couple of hundred horny housewives sucked in big ones. Not too many fathers had turned up, despite there being
an armada of illegal flesh hardly attired at all. There were a lot of speeches, too many speeches, and after the speeches, the riff raff, namely the rest of the pupils, were quickly ushered away to classrooms a long way from the action. Their day would soon arrive, or maybe not, as not long after they were safely ensconced in temporary outbuildings being ridiculed by temporary teachers everyone could hear were whistles and screaming.
It was chaos out in the playground after the kids finally broke loose from their inadequate moorings. No one knew what had actually happened, although, from the look of the teachers and the parents - it was something pretty shitty. Word filtered through the great pond of school life; some boy had drowned, he was dead, no more exams, no more worries about tinea and communal showering, his worrying days were over. No one believed it, death was an alien thing but to have to die in a school swimming pool, seemed the most pitiful of deaths. Unjust. Corrupt even. They held a ceremony for him three-days later in the assembly hall. Luiz knew him vaguely, in a vague way. It later transpired that no one had thought to add 'no chewing gum' to the 'dos' and 'donts' list and the kid had gotten his gum wedged in his throat under water. No one had seen him due to all the excitement and broo har har, until it was way too late.
The pool stood forlorn and ghostly for many months, like a big grinning death machine. No kid wanted to go swim in water where one of their own had been taken. Luiz never did swim in the pool, as after that it became a voluntary and not mandatory part of the progrom. Luiz learned that far worse things didn't just happen at sea - they happened in school swimming pools too.
Luiz had never eaten so much cake, even Mrs. Beeton herself would have admired his cake-gorging ability. Everywhere you looked, there was cake. The good ladies of Luiz's town were buying up flour wholesale. Odd that they would induce kids to gorge on cake, but maybe the fact they were building a very large swimming pool: indoor, heated, high boards, foot dips, meant that a few hundred chubby kids rendered docile on Victoria sandwich, made the whole kooky idea necessary to those higher up the cash river. Those who controlled the fiscal sluice gates of educationary budgets as it were. So the tech boys kept digging their way to China, the ladies kept their ovens on day and night, and in amongst the fetes and jamborees and beer and skittles nights they raised enough cash to not only commence building the best school swimming pool in the Union, but probably what they saw as the best damned swimming pool this side of the moon. Everyone was proud, even Luiz, though he seriously doubted it would ever be anything but a fifty-foot hole in the ground which would fill with muddy water eight-months of the year and claim about two-dozen lives per annum.
The English are not raised to be optimists.
And then Luiz fell out of a tree. Probably a result of eating all that cake as he'd never fallen out of one before. When he got home his mum told him that worse things happened at sea. Maybe if they'd lived at sea she would have said that worse things happen in trees. They say naff stuff like that because Englanders live on an island, an island with a population that from which, only about five percent even so much as dip a toe in the brine once a year. Trees however rarely get a rush on. Plus they can be chopped down. All of that aside, Luiz fell out of a tree onto a rubbish dump – from a tree that had maybe stood since before the first English king got executed or syphlitic and was now surounded by old electrical appliances, rusting bed frames, and rolled-up carpets. Have some cake his mum said, we've got plenty.
It'll all end in tears, or another polio epidemic his mum said later over yet more cake. She always fell onto the pessimistic side of the coin of the realm. Not Luiz's dad however, he was always on the practical side, proved adequately enough when he said: well, at least the boy'll get a wash twice a week, save on the goddamned electric bill here at least. There were the usual dissenters about the pool, but strangely, not about a tree being surrounded by discarded household waste. Naturally given that every town has it's 'anti-progress' movement there was a small floatilla of geriatric petitioners who believed that tin baths were good enough for them, so why not for modern kids, and they thus began a 'no pool' lobby group. Them aside, work pushed on with a gusto, and by the following autumn, low and behold, Luiz's school was the proud owner of a swimming pool that fair reeked of chlorine and the blood, sweat and tears of an army of sponge cakers, oh, and not forgetting the manual labour of fifty-odd retarded kids with long criminal careers and plenty of ditch digging ahead of them.
Even Luiz got into the swing of things, and not only him, a whole cement mixer full of other boys too, who all suddenly realised that it was the dawn of a new era of seeing girls all but naked. Then came the lists. Lists that all those parents who had supported the pool, now found highly inconvenient; shit like personal hygiene, cold sores, tinea, correct urination procedures, towels and bathers with name tags - disclosure and liability forms, swimming caps, goggles, floaties, the whole kit 'n' kaboodle associated with educational swimming facilities. Jesus, Luiz's dad groaned, all this stuff'll end up bankrupting me. Off everyone traipsed to the opening gala, where the great pool was to be officially opened by some ex-Commonwealth swimmer who'd once finished fifth in the Commonwealth games of 1848 or something. All the town's dignitaries and signatories were in attendance, along with parents and teachers, everyone in point of fact who was anyone, and naturally some people who weren't anyone at all but thought they ought to be.
After the opening ceremony there was to be an open lesson, the inaugral dip and all the years and classes had gone into a tombola and the winning class from a year two below Luiz's had prevailed. As they lined up on the pool deck most were fear laden. The closest most of them had been to water was a tin bath in front of their nan's fire. They were a ghastly sight - pale white sickroom specimens with ashen faces, like a swim team from Transylvania. The swim coach, Mr. Spitz was proudly walking around in way tight trunks that left less than little to even the most infertile imagination, proudly blowing on his whistle while a couple of hundred horny housewives sucked in big ones. Not too many fathers had turned up, despite there being
an armada of illegal flesh hardly attired at all. There were a lot of speeches, too many speeches, and after the speeches, the riff raff, namely the rest of the pupils, were quickly ushered away to classrooms a long way from the action. Their day would soon arrive, or maybe not, as not long after they were safely ensconced in temporary outbuildings being ridiculed by temporary teachers everyone could hear were whistles and screaming.
It was chaos out in the playground after the kids finally broke loose from their inadequate moorings. No one knew what had actually happened, although, from the look of the teachers and the parents - it was something pretty shitty. Word filtered through the great pond of school life; some boy had drowned, he was dead, no more exams, no more worries about tinea and communal showering, his worrying days were over. No one believed it, death was an alien thing but to have to die in a school swimming pool, seemed the most pitiful of deaths. Unjust. Corrupt even. They held a ceremony for him three-days later in the assembly hall. Luiz knew him vaguely, in a vague way. It later transpired that no one had thought to add 'no chewing gum' to the 'dos' and 'donts' list and the kid had gotten his gum wedged in his throat under water. No one had seen him due to all the excitement and broo har har, until it was way too late.
The pool stood forlorn and ghostly for many months, like a big grinning death machine. No kid wanted to go swim in water where one of their own had been taken. Luiz never did swim in the pool, as after that it became a voluntary and not mandatory part of the progrom. Luiz learned that far worse things didn't just happen at sea - they happened in school swimming pools too.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
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