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Tuesday, 21 May 2024

BxXx (REDRAFTED)

 



Ma ville monarchical law 

needs arrow-slits 

crenellated white-stone 

the finest grain of social body

pressed inside freedoms

panorama breadth 

Alpha Global City Rich

in my heart colours 

chevrons & ziggurats 

one of God's creatures

ragged over stone  

                                          instead of brick 

star shaped King Pest      

cross-plained

in the forest of plastic receipts 

while cabbage civilisation exists 

under Atomium

what vast marshes of 

dog shit at night 

shine under numbstands 

a cestus of starres 

                                          from inspector's lodge

I am beautiful as a safe 

of pipes filled by Quartermaster 

chasten the carceral city small theatres  

tortures shaped dots with wheels, 

                                                      gibbets, gallows, 

the pillories sing 

                The European Council,

 it’s soulless Eurocrates 

seeking to introduce a standard 

European bottle holding a miserable 

                                                   70 centiliters, 

robbing life of charm 

& subjecting it to 

The Economic Man 

Flemings gone French 

in Beer world, 

                       curry leicht

scharf paired to Ultra-Luxe

more six grain 

& I’ll live forever

off the eldest child, Leopold 

Heer copse to sunn blamed 

frenulum pressed into lintel 

LA PRISON=SUCE MA TEUB


Monday, 20 May 2024

Deluded is disarmed (draft)

 



My room is rectangular, white and silent. My bed has a white enamel frame and sensible metal springs. High up, on the south wall, there is a square, metal-framed window, too small for me to jump out of even if the reinforced glass could be broken. I cannot jump out, but the sky can and does float in whenever I want it to.


Two unoriginal landscapes hang on the south and east walls. One depicts a field of corn in the foreground, with trees in the background.


The other, trees in the foreground and many fields of corn in the back-ground. Both scenes are overlooked by a summer sky.

There are two hard chairs and one reasonably comfortable, upholstered one that I deny myself and reserve for visitors. Oh yes, I still practise self-denial as others exercise their bodies. And with just as much pleasure.


For the rest, there is a bedside table with a small cupboard under-neath, a washstand with an unbreakable, blue, plastic water-jug and an equally unbreakable, blue, plastic beaker. My toothbrush and toothpaste sit happily in the beaker waiting to be used.


Not my razor. I do not have a razor any more, not even a safety razor. The authorities, in their utter ignorance of my character and disposition, fear that if I had access to a sharp enough blade of any kind I might try to do away with myself. Instead, a razor is brought to me every morning. I shave under the closest supervision. As soon as I have finished, the razor is taken away.


The light is attached to the ceiling, out of my reach. It is controlled by a master switch in the ward-orderly's office. At seven every morning it is switched on. At eleven every evening it is turned off. Day in, day out. winter and summer, it never changes. The authorities have no sense of diurnal variation.


No doubt, the authorities think that it was they who decided to send me here, It was I who decided to come here, By my actions most carefully calculated I made sure that the judge had no alternative but to send me here. I have no doubt that the authorities think that i am confined here at their pleasure. Nothing, of course, could be further from the truth. I would only be confined if I wanted to leave. I have no intention of leaving. Let the authorities have their little delusions. Deluded is disarmed.


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