Monday 31 January 2022

CC: Death Chartered Institute of Personnel & Development (2022) VEER2


Announcing a new engagement for Veer, with the Imprint Veer2. Our aim is to publish poetry that goes beyond boundaries; indeed our emphasis will be on non-normative and challenging work. We want to have a speedy turn-around publishing schedule, often with younger writers at the forefront.

Veer2, Veer squared, the veering of Veer, a veneer laid across a Veer. These works are put out by members of the collective who feel passionately that that work is vitally necessary. No programme though, anti-programmatic, nothing but a shared exploration, in timbres of excitement, of what might be the same and what might be new.

Veer2's first series editor is Robert Kiely, who has curated his own series of Veer2 publications. He will be followed by other series editors who will bring their own sense of Veer2 to Veer and to the world.

Veer Books | Veer2 are William Rowe, Ulli Freer, Stephen Mooney, Aod├ín McCardle, Piers Hugill, Adrian Clarke, Carol Watts and Robert Kiely.

Veer Books will continue in its own right, publishing significant reprints as well as the occasional new text.

Friday 14 January 2022



Ṣ̴̯̥̘͓͍̙̽͑̏̊̒̕E̵̞̼̥̗͈̱̒̈́̓͒͗̆̚M̸̡̢̡̙̦̬̗͚̻̍́̅̌̂͋̓B̶̡̤̳̞̪͖̅͌́̂̔̈L̷̡̛̤͈̲̘̃̃̇͌͐̍́̕͝A̸̛̮̱̦̯̫̠̔̓͂̿̆͊̕͜Ņ̸̛̥̠͙͗̋̅̑̎̂̚͜͜C̴̢͉̘͍̲̗͍̥͊̽̽Ě̷̢̙̘̼̦̥͖  ̶̜̝̮̣̈̈́̽̇̄̌̂̽͜—̷̣̓͌  ̴̼̮̣̔͂͂̂ͅĎ̴̢͎̬̹͙ͅE̸̡̩̅̍̂̃͒̊̈̈͘ͅC̸͙̠͙̘̼̙̩̠͉̺̐́͆͋Ḛ̷̝͍͈̰͍̘̭̱̊̋̕͜P̶̡̛͚͕͔̲͈̩̺̆͌͊̂̈́̽͒͛̀T̵̫̬̠̤͍̍̊͘͘ͅI̵̡̧̛̬̗͓̰̦͔͓̗͊̀̃͋Ò̵̪̣̬̲̟̪̬̞̤̦̒͗̃͐N̷̠̼̳̘̂̂̈͋̊́̏̚͝͝ ̴̡̗̠̲̗̝̂́̌́̾͆̿̂̚ —̶̱̙͖͍̫͔̉͗  ̴̡̖̝̱̤͍̠̞̳̈́̊̔̄́͐̄̄͋̈́ͅD̴͙̞̃̐͝I̴͕̰̞̣̣̒͌̈́̏͗͜͝S̶̡̥͙̯̦̲͛͘Ţ̵̢̯̲̎̀̒̑O̷̢̡̪̗̜͈͉͊́͌͋̾R̸̡̩̲̟̻̹̈́̒̑́́̂̿̀̓̚Ṭ̵̜̼̹̌I̵̧͛̀̀̊̊̕͠O̴͈͉̰̺͌͒̓͑̇N̶̢͙͇̹̻̱̺͊͑̂̎̒͗

Maddie and Maggie

The Tories might not be what they seem (maybe they are); maybe they are a little girl that’s been abducted (maybe not) in Praia da Luz, Portugal in 2007 and that since then hasn’t aged or died. Maddie is still looking down to us with the same innocent, somewhat looming gaze. Maggie has, in fact, died, but she still retains a sense of agelessness, as if she had been mummified precisely in the moment of some important historical event, maybe a crackdown of some strike in the 1980s, a memory nurtured by Thatcherites and Labour-affiliated unionists alike. Maggie and Maddie, they are what they seem and they are not, image and self-generating avatar, brownish-green-eyed and blonde, merged as one, two icons of relatively contemporary British history, creating an idyll that is both terrifying and touching.

Body Language

Shall we believe the McCanns? Do they believe themselves? Youtube teaches us to not trust them since their body language makes them appear suspicious. This is material for a thousand Youtube panels on public lying; public lying––yes, that is the transition to Roger Scruton Experiencing the Sublime in Hull… Where his face has become static, frozen in the moment of an unregimented experience (what’s he dreaming about?), he is transformed––literally––into the character mask (Marx) that he is. Personally, I would rather be peed on by someone wearing that mask than piss on the caricature (in a toilet in Melbourne, Australia).


Not less of an icon is the little green Terminator-monster, which appears in a no less iconic historical moment (the emergence of the plandemic). It teaches us to be vigilant: it does so with a pirate-like grin. Little green monster may teach us to consult Youtube-panels on the body language of untruth before we hold our breath, get the jab, take off the mask, etc. … It is actually funny to arrange the three works so that they look at each other; lil monster gazes at the others with his healthy (?) eye, being the least monstrous of the three, Maggie-Maddie stares into nothingness, and Roger withdraws into himself (leaves nothing behind but a hull), making it impossible to distinguish between disgust and jouissance. 

Text by Len Sander

Thursday 6 January 2022




Health is a state of 

complete physical 

mental & social 

well-being not merely an absence of disease 

& infirmity 

World Health Organization 

So your nervous tab slips razor blades 

into heads & from the gate

scabbing brocades 

& the fumes from fingernails tenderly gibbetted

grease , the odour of burning cloth

whilst wiping on grids

for the nine hour 

solder B trepanning 

blood circles strange ,as bedfellows 

again & bad lighting illegalises eyes 

to warming sworn in PPE 

made earmarking to mouthholes etc.

O scrim unbroken seizure arm the City 

chuckles collapsed turbulent tectonics of 

kidney shaped abscesses

curling black lids fading shells

little impish gentleman in grey, to be melted

from grease , the odious cloth

chokes to poison your bone marrow 

with shrill laughter in the throat 

& weakening of our hands & heart 

fill­s us with divisions, 

confusions, tumults, & every eviled workfare; 

O ate daily scabs 

rolled what they shadowed pinkish

fumes to fumes

fingernailed tenderly vanishing 

without finger-posts, without mouthhole with

outmarked dead pneumatic chisels

 just by living in a town or city

a faces goes in & vanishes  over twisted glimpses,

like everything denied

to us itching circles

concrete Tinted, AWNINGS 

bending gravelike IN the  RAIN


their official analysis is 


     as wrenching ammonia, tar & benzene 

the wholesome air suffers 

a thorax simmers at home, 

feeling unwell, maybe drunk or breathless, 

or burning of nausea & itching tears 

a country lane is resumed  smoothed over 

“It is the next day.” 

lip benefend tainted 

behind songs below

high walls rigged with sirens

O dry spirit rebury a binder of moulds, 

burst all in pieces afterwards ploughed up

& go on* **********without again 







*we possess  declining, we

forward, struggling to find a way

what is not

our function 

in the stock


;in British industry 

in feeding decibels just as 

not to be mangled, 

or burnt on Information sheets 

heeled out to tell us 

the future is disorder sealed in magic lamps

that defeats you  

as bad news bangs for everyone 

&the scale of enterprise pails upstairs 

so does the potential for sabotage in the workplace 

starred strange ,as bedfellows O

, the normal logarithmic pulse 

keeps running all costs, 

get polythene PoP inflammable 

stretch it over our heads 

tie it with a bit of string 

this type of thing is 

highly dangerous &

it is always that or die

O it is always to red gush 

catalyst anomies  its raided world elopes that or die

& 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 pathology 

The Transmitted Deprivation Research Programme

breaks my eyes were at all times

screwdrivers & cuts etc. 

‘it is the next day’ 

waving & smiling & moving on to fade

& calling all hearts to emulate 

to escape,d surround; of blood

of my chair; the back of a 

purge pulls suspension clauses there

are real


a) They reduce your

common life

b) They kill inside & never deliver full restitution 

 The meeting


promised they would be paid

on the misery of ambiguity & forced pretense

on the misery of not being a cause

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

on the misery of knowing that one is doing harm