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Wednesday 15 May 2024

Come to the edge (After David), 2024 (Phone Image taken by Michael, Child Entrepreneur aged 11 from Epsom)



Come to the edge (After David), 2024 
45cm x 35cm 
Oil on Expensive European Fabric 

Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It's too high!
COME TO THE EDGE!
And they came
And he pushed
And they flew.

 

THE AMERICAN HARDWOOD EXPORT COUNCIL PRESENTS (draft)

 


THE AMERICAN HARDWOOD EXPORT COUNCIL PRESENTS ‘THE SMILE’ the first ever ‘mega-tube’ cross-laminated tulipwood. Entering The Smile through an opening where the curved form meets the ground, the visitor can walk from end to end of the 34-metre-long tube to discover a new kind of space that gradually rises toward light. All four sides of The Smile's interior will be made of the same beautiful hardwood panels as the structure. It will offer a complete sensory experience of colour, texture, scent and sound. The Smile's two open ends will illuminate the funnel-like interior space and act as balconies to the city.


Along the walls, perforations will allow sunlight to draw changing patterns on the floor throughout the day. The perforations will also give the visitor an understanding of how the structure performs as they're located in positions where there are fewer structural stresses. At night the interior will be illuminated by linear light strips that trace its dynamic curving floor. Through glassy walls that slowly turn the secret parts of us bending rising when it’s all quiet you can hear your body fits the crevice in the most comfortable fashion imaginable

Monday 13 May 2024

There is no pain (re-drafted early version) 13.05.24

 

Stephen Christopher Yaxleys

old panoply of grimoires

or are we now inside venerated sprigs

over chalk breaks like Dover Straits

& listen to quarter peal

of Stedman Caters 

ringing as though sounding the tocsin, 

fingered a heart thrugs to fading 

cold as daybreaks

rendition a broken English light

curls up my back to tap 

on the hypercondensation

the window sneaks a think-tank 

to translucent its bleeding line 

through the breached yew tree,

a coup operation;

you are listening to, 

now speaks the Nationwide Festival of Light

like breaking tiny little speckled abrasions 

beyond feeling, rosacea skin gradients

of eternal bliss a berry for later,

snaps Peers as the poverty lobby 

is galvanised to crypt it,

to bury falling through the 

stairway at Bevin Court,

the abolition of suffering 

moral standards

your name is bleach

covered in thin bronze

galvanised in the basement

of the building 

Lenin creaks out

a whispered slue 

in the central linking drum,

my eyes now glue 

weeping on the gallery floors

you watch from 

the rooftop canopies,

its tapering and thinning

air what is to be done

with Hopton Wood Stone clipped

now painted?

a naked winged angel bronze butterfly 

goes missing, Y-shaped 

torn belthers on crimson thread, 

Yaxleys in the area

lilies mercifully 

I foul, out to the wildernesses

to crypt it, yes,

this act weakened me but, 

in a way,

I have been cared for

yes, I am diminished 

but I am also emboldened:

 

it feels like passion  

ears bent to fagends 

it move me at night sometimes  

to be near anti-pigeon spikes 

pressing against the vulnerable white skin, 

the  skin  of  a  living boy,

the skin  without  blood  gradually, 

a  chest without  air,

slackening,  thin  stomach thinning 

 caving in eventually to 

the beginning of the implementation 

of the notorious Credo programme 

–my antedate pure;

strong, I am, & determined so very much 

as gradients of intelligent bliss

orders curve over me

a magnitude richer like god on wort.


Dave Pearce, you have unsundered 

the Future's portal upward still,

and onward, is yours alone,

scaped so bend our ' Mayflower,'

and steer boldly through

the desperate winter sea, 

effective altruism phasing out

suffering here tonight

under bluelight meld all bleating

goodstrong people's blood,

that is good &not shitmud! 

& I can see from fits of burning 

rubber the ever glowing,

never receding line

of fealty chokes K, thou art my life,

to death, at night

in Ebenezer Howards ancestral environs 

replaced by a motivational system 

of heritable gradients 

of bliss states

of sublime well-being 

that destined to become

the feasibility of pains abolition

retented

Yaxleys hidden,

a bin of pickering lillies

to tilth O father,

a flooded upland

the fairest hushes 

of the wettest of lips

& uttermost purpose

the World Health Organisation clangs  

under the jib of a needle 

amygdala hijacked mid-hue 

The Transmitted Deprivation Research Programme 

per chevron gules & O barry wavy 

of ten azure,

that some went mad 

or in a fess,

embattled the last masoned sable 

coloured in chief,

sunned in splendours gold 

gone ‘social pathology’

gone under tower gules 

gone two spigs of honesty gone to leaved slipped

a violent volume knob

for pain & poverty, 

Yaxleys fall saltirewise 

genebreaks

of intergenerational Montgomeries 

& continuities bend

orchards round the wall,

of your buried head trusting pure O

that light is p-zombied

painless bite swells the CNS

in shades outside common rooms,

surrounds this garden

phenomenal binding 

a mother's love,

the profoundest peace,

a Jupiter brain

pure bliss of the utilitronium launches 

the problem of suffering

is tractable on pin-scales

the logarithmic pulse keeps

running all costs, 

get polythene stretch it over our heads 

tie it with a bit of string

this type of thing is 

highly dangerous

& the curve bend 

is the optimal zone,

What is the delta? 

anode bookmarks flesh of pedos

is glued on Ebenezer Howards

darned light in Garden Cities

a kinder sky! socially engineered

catalyst anomies raided world elopes

or to be mangled burnt,

& docked friends, voluntary groups & 

as a last resort of course by the State 

a strike for your life! imp-

lore us; spectral Keith Josephs

failing radiant 

social pathologies

banded for

waving

& smiling

& moving to fade

& calling all hearts to emulate 

on the misery of ambiguity 

on the misery of  32 New “Mail Room” jobs in South London 

on the misery of not being a cause

on the misery of misery 

on the misery of not feeling entitled to one's misery

on the misery of knowing that one is doing harm

under a table in the morning,

I abolish pain below 

the hedonic zero

treadmill all hearts

off caustic preening the lumbar straits 

increase the baseline  

there is always

intervening on the ground

under the pie-tree

fatlegged eating through a cloud of rice pudding; 

on the other side of the fence 

the Organising Group 

an empty apparition, basted, 

in votives spilling outwards 'familial processes'

are responsible, the gene code again

to rutter & madge to the ground

our structural Generation Merit,

to ferret out every weak spot,

peel away each loose fleck 

in the lapse pickering

on my recurrent flashing dreams,

look at this clopping massive

giant fucking cloud 

my frozen tongue

this lunar light

this future society is

log scales under bitter birch & levity 

falling all things are finally

big & bright O dancing

in this moonlight


Monday 29 April 2024

Ampthill Square (draft 2)


Ampthill Square your demonic

High Density Polyethylene 

air cladtoy roof burning 

souffl├ęs the day of mouldwrap

in my eyes a reshe

under pisspoor catechisms 

iring in the mid-distance 

on small infill sites line prophecy 

HS2 straw warnings Rotes Wien 

cannot prevent blood skeleton 

career winning skinfoils

endthwart & Rockfoils

overlong welts sinking empty

& shallow on Purchese Street

Open Space chairs diversionary

concrete maisonettes breakup

Metropolitan District Councils

dust suppressant monitor stations 

 'Well, if we see anything

or are alerted to anything suspicious,

you know our first response has to be physical force'

the company's official position

by your bruised lips 

hide gloms of golden saxifrage 

requiesce on Euston Road 

The Sixth Carbon Budget

& the purlieus Argyle Square 

stickling dream station, hostel to hostel 

time warped in a field full of moles 

aborted coldness talking to the dead again?

rustling inter-lined Burberry 

Surbiton mist drift paraded end of day,

whorl of vapours light solid things fall

to the dissolve of sandstone 

what hurts more in stone bowers, 

a paraboloid roof plunging?  

glass & concrete mime an upturned ark

the imagined version of the 

1% as architectural design, bed of grey

white pearl shining throwing a halo

a dash or eternity? 

A Heatherwick Stairway?

gad crack'd all people outside 

are now dead as voices 

from near silence under kissing buildings,

landscrapes your hands & face 

forget yesterday's unkindness;

the heritage version of history 

is embedded shit bas-relief 

buried centuries our little gaps of sedge

get demented.