4.11.22 (draft/edit)

 

Ed Woollard’s crashing like a cascade 

in red blood rain – this type requires specialist disposal

this type can be dispensed into a sewage drain 

this type can be dispersed into the air 

this type can be poured into your neck

and become an example made by Geoffrey Rivlin QC 

the right to peaceful protest is a precious one! indeed

who whispered short-lived, very swiftly repented

the lives of those he loved jeopardised a spark 

and injured the thin walls 

the complex, breaking furniture and windows

and outnumbered the right of peaceful protest is a precious one

and as you dry out in the rain, 

the cascade and its motorcade 

in the tiny pip the idyll of freezing mud

is six silhouetted storied separations 

we lay delightfully still in our thousands upward

a feral wandering out the imploded evil box 

its video footage was played with a view to causing 

a gap in the crowd below spectrally 

be hurt Ed Woollard’s 

to kneel painfully 

on stone and then wipe all expression 

from your face 

so that the viewer would read suppressed or inner pain 

the same shots again and again,

hoping the right of peaceful protest is a precious one

Commander Bob Broadhurst 

of Trooping the Colour, a dying breed 

at the National Siege Management Gala 

I felt a suppressed inner pain 

a pickering feeling 

inside my distant mouth says 

keep the City open for business

as the right of peaceful protest is a precious one

slumped in an alley outside the Stock Exchange

anarchists smashing windows and storming an 

RBS bank branch in Threadneedle Street 

as it expediates Woollard’s

descending cascading 

a number of missiles die

thrown a little bird told me 

down a deer track, through a tough thicket of 

waist-high ferns that we had discovered 

–a precious peaceful protest 

a clearing of sweetly scented camomile 

everything around us was bursting with life

pheasant cocks scurrying through the undergrowth

resin dripping indecently from clefts of the evergreens 

representing brightness itself 

like everything denied to us 

flowing through our hands  

a gene breakdown in my cenotaph 

benzene under frosted light

the petrochemical sheen of feathers

in definite areas 

removed his shoulder number 

covered the bottom of his face with his balaclava

weeping at the most unexpected things

Ed Woollard’s spectrally 

be hurt Human kindness. Human vulnerability

ringpulls lost pennies gentle patiences – 

Officer pushed him. 

He went forward. 

Thought he had hit his head. 

Expected blood. 

beneath the surface 

of the skin or dead tissue 

above the surface

hair is an attribute and part of the human body

it breaks and into an arrangement of feathers 

in definite areas as wilted light is halted 

as placarded or weaponised 

hangs from the DPP

a cruel vector of birchen pens 

a redoubtable wielding roflcopter

of justice drugged on right of peaceful protest 

is a precious one in the courtyard apex is 

tribunal extinguisher hangs the CPS 

i know where every phone is  

to give way to non-priority 

subjects sing to taskforce sunk in 

earglow or burnt out commercial leases

the category of a weapon elegised to class 

a pricket gathering at the base 

of emergency situations bloodless and maliciously cut, 

broken apart or damaged 

the whole or any of this 

wheresoever the same may be growing, 

the injury done being to the amount 

then raised 

I leaned against, looked in

with or without whipping Ed 

Woollard’s crashing like a cascade 

on a surface of locked feet 

in low fidelity 

choking out the right of peaceful protest 

is a precious one 

 

BLUE LABOUR at DISLAND PARIS BY COLE DENYER

 

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).

Termination

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

IAIN DUNCAN SMITH IN EMERGENCY RED, 2016

 

In 2015, I was invited to show in a studio and project space in South East, UK. I had prepared to show a sculpture of Ian Duncan Smith’s inverted head painted in emergency exit red. The head itself, was attached to a scaffold pole to evoke the custom/symbolic value of placing a head on a spike for the purposes of warning spectators or as in the historic case of Oliver Cromwell posthumous execution at Tyburn. His head was subsequently displayed in Westminster Hall, the exact same location as the trial of Charles I as revenge by the monarchy on the head of state.

I planned to install the piece on the roof of the space. During the show, it became quite clear that the original artist fee became ‘dematerialised’ amongst these young curatorial hands. As a form of vengeance, I installed the head for the duration of the show in the only staff toilet on the premises. The closest public toilet was 500ft away in the town centre in a Costa Coffee chain.

Hythe 87 PLus 11

 Ah, Beautiful Sky (excerpt) 

Ah, beautiful sky, 

broken people replaced by 

clubs everyone stands outside 

TFL semi-public toilets 

real time escapes you 

like steel mullions

that become suddenly blinding

bloodless & inside 

you sadistic rate caps 

all around the air

unsolicited emotional 

/financial advice 

your Colonel as a father

Ah, beautiful sky, 

in this country is a village 

its green topiary gardens 

its barcode façades

a habitat, a feeling 

the world is one magnificent

shop everything is here 

under a section 106 agreement

your face now fallen through 

a future hybridisation 

of 0s numbed encircled 

as real live bombs with chain effects

its laissez-faire bonfire créationnisme

Ah, beautiful sky, 

in business parks the future, no

‘we need to start making things again’

flooding synthetic turfs 

and artificial hillocks with blood 

a coin tower made up of six billion 

penny pieces starred out in a tiara 

on the head of this 

fabulous city, 

all forms & images 

in the world can be revoked

remembering your childhood

Ah, beautiful sky, 

in a regional accent 

I stand in a line forever 

& have been doing so red nosed 

in Church Of England prayerbook, 

kissing tightly for myself entirely, 

to my bursting heart, my head of state 

it's why I attended Army Command

& Staff College in Camberley

& NATO Defense College, 

I’m finishing my last stint

as Chief of Staff 

of Forces Pension Society 

Ah, beautiful sky, 

I came all the way from Ringwood, near

Bagnam Forest Corner 

with my 16 air assault brigade 

I drive a large Trojan 

armour engineering vehicle 

– it looks like a giant metal lobster 

I fucking love it on Propser Keating 

with my adjutant 10 para,

my signaller, Masher

my kindred flame  

I promise that

if I die before you 

Ah, beautiful sky, 

I would come & tell you, 

I love my country 

& I sank to the bottom of it once

but you were there, my tenderest 

exurban Daily Mail reader

& your lovebite continues 

like a eurythmy therapy enshrining 

inwardly to the most sunlight 

as concrete maisonettes break up 

into nothing that was never built 

inside of the Head of Disputes 

Ah, beautiful sky, 

tacked on at random metal extrusions

they serve some sort of screening purpose 

Metropolitan District Councils

over dust suppressant monitor stations

a hate bubble tangles up 

roof garden, a café, a crèche, 

a ‘breakout room’ the future, no 

‘we need to start making things again’ 

it was just about this time, 

& I was walking with some friends ; 

it was exceedingly warm, we decided to bathe, 

a weakness came over me & I sank to the bottom

 Microsoft Teams Hell (excerpt)

They’ve taken the phone away

& finally installed Teams, Chat 

& videoconferencing, file storage 

& application integration a life

bowed into a trig point etheric 

& mine are made of cables 

& eyes that get internal 

alone on the scale of management 

a stone in your mouth from 

a box you must keep 

going on the care password is stamp call

& this information is most important

but does not reflect the actual duration of protection 

at work or approval to untruth of tearing on & out

the chemical resistance in of the workplace is 

HAHSAHSHASHDHASHD 

the floor which is the place force breaks onto 

 4 metre alacrity wireless scanner 

are to be embraced

in order to maintain all inventory levels

& all failing components,

as a fist closes to work 

esprit de corps 

this is mission critical,, the causative connection is discretion 

& the rewards system tangle up 

inside a head, strike out in nonverbal cues 

to the meeting of looking & 

the frequency of glances 

& patterns of fixation, 

&&&

my pupils dilate as blink rate increases  

as teeth which hang-up in gurgles

slither out from, beneath or down 

or to shut through crawling 

envelopes walls & the notyetwindows 

are unmonitored fingers, that nail you

from which wishes ungrant a brow of this worksong 

reclaimed & inside Veolia bin lures 

our said things are meaningful but 

more to become stolen time in bloodthick 

evasions as if madrigals brigged like blockades 

you love what you do 

remembering the floors 

have absolutely no cracks

but a sinkhole increases daily

the passing touch under mercury vapour light 

greenish white under central management office 

you go in atm’s come out 

the peeled arachinards of a body

from silver poisoned breathe: 

A Brief Job Stress Questionnaire 

& hash for life 

under brambles churn up bike chains, 

hammers, beautiful wires, 

people, shoes & in afterglow stilled

with this loot to ban in the welfare room

again of no hope your body

is a sickness presence failing 

to turned & up ctrl alt del 

this a path model n.b 

this variable is explained in the Results Section: 

‘Arrows with solid lines represent 

statistically significant paths, 

and broken lines to show 

nonsignificant paths.’

no kindred place 

behind gates ramified this shit lanyard 

grown skin to concrete  

in sore spots developing 

antipathies to working life

& remedies unconstitutive 

company directives 

being imperative to this scattergraph 

is here now fading through 

a mute phone call to my union rep 

I sing Josh Grobin’s incarnation  

of You Raise Me Up  

a Hymn shared, gave thanks 

There For You in declined hardships  

a twisted larynx sparks 

off bitter toxics daily motions 

repeated on business premises 

touch to touch the alacrity wireless scanner 

around its intimate knowing nerve 

a feeling goes to turn to them

who triaged you as a priority stage 3, 

at the end of night a hymn went away 

came back as affray & how to starve light 

scatter graphs biff the company flag

tetches into pigeon-holes 

doorframes branch & intumescent names

sit in chairs sealed persons 

to bossed chains the immediate hymn goes away.

04.11.22

Ed Woollard’s crashing like a cascade 

in red blood rain – this type requires specialist disposal

this type can be dispensed into a sewage drain 

(not rainwater drain)

this type can be dispersed into the air 

this type can be poured into your neck

and become an example made by Geoffrey Rivlin QC 

the right to peaceful protest is a precious one! indeed

who whispered short-lived very swiftly repented

the lives of those he loved jeopardised a spark 

and injured the thin walls 

the complex broken furniture and windows

and outnumbered the right of peaceful protest is a precious one

and as you dry out in the rain, 

the cascade and its motorcade 

in the tiny pip the idyll of freezing mud

in six silhouetted storied separations 

we lay beautifully still in our thousands upward

wandering out the imploded evil box 

its video footage was played with a view to causing 

a gap in the crowd below spectrally 

be hurt Ed Woollard's 

to kneel painfully 

on stone and then wipe all expression 

from your face

so that the viewer would read suppressed or inner pain 

the same shots again and again,

hoping the right of peaceful protest is a precious one

Commander Bob Broadhurst of Trooping the Colour, 

a dying breed at the National Siege Management Gala 

I felt a suppressed or some inner pain 

of unlawful killing, a pickering feeling even

inside my chiding distant ambling mouth 

to keep the City open for business

as the right of peaceful protest is a precious one! indeed

slumped in an alley outside the Stock Exchange

anarchists smashing windows storming an 

RBS bank branch in Threadneedle Street 

a knock on the door

as it expediates Woollard’s

descending cascading 

a number of missiles die

thrown a little bird told me 

down a deer track, through a tough thicket of 

waist-high ferns that we had discovered 

–a precious peaceful protest 

a clearing of sweetly scented camomile 

everything around us bursting with life

pheasant cocks scurrying through undergrowth

resin dripping indecently from clefts of evergreens 

like everything denied to us 

flowing through our heads, our hands  

a gene breakdown 

in my cenotaph swingeing benzene 

under frosting light the petrochemical sheen 

of feathers in definite areas 

removed his shoulder number 

covered the bottom of his face with his balaclava

wept at the most unexpected things

Ed Woollard’s spectrally 

be hurt human kindness. Human vulnerability

ringpulls lost pennies gentle patience. 

Officer pushed him. 

He went forward. 

Thought he had hit his head. 

Expected blood. 

beneath the surface 

of the skin or dead tissue 

above the surface

hair is an attribute and part of the human body

it breaks and into an arrangement of feathers 

in definite areas as wilted light is halted 

or placarded weaponised from the DPP

a cruel vector of birchen pens 

a redoubtable wielding roflcopter

strings of justice 

drugged on right of peaceful protest 

is a precious one in the courtyard apex 

a tribunal extinguisher inverts the CPS 

i know where every phone is  

to give way to non-priority 

subjects sing to taskforce sunk in 

earglow or burnt out commercial leases

the category of a weapon elegised to class 

a pricket gathering at the base 

of emergency situations are bloodless 

and maliciously cut, 

broken apart or damaged 

the whole or any of this 

wheresoever the same may be growing, 

the injury done being to the amount 

then raised until they trampled pavements 

I leaned against, looked in

with or without whipping Ed 

Woollard’s crashing like a cascade 

on a surface of locked feet in low fidelity 

and kind pity 

choking out the right of peaceful protest 

is a precious one.