Saturday, 12 September 2009

following Crot _ Yaddo _ Other

temp. paperback allowance review
wearing bright eclectic shandys to take
some rubicon micro-movement loading…
***& split ^ cabbie [rain – parkway
profanes tree root illuminating livingroom
] all my blubs are serrated suspenders
brigaded, tapered abruptly & someone else
adandon’d harsh luncheon .

txt [from)) ;this evening & any other
ukulele loop peddler breaking ex-
___ deckchair
__________more than ppl
kids | synonym: frenzy | every five
“complicated” windowhunger stereotype
dressed as his barium tract brutally
turk aural violin +++ gag. gag. flail.
no, today not headlamp not busride cleaner
queues likely __________ bothering ____ ?

then there’s that harsh naming of presidential candidates [sweet thing / reprise]
*separated US queers sigh in woe,, update orientation statistically*
stare @ goats, or @ ladies reunion on a list of books
bobbing for a black-market ticket to white-house tours
______ $50. $60? 2Ө? Eros twist maelstrom resumpt
wake wake wake wake wake wake whale
and this patched anagram lasting fourteen minutes
jerking lo light f’ dwelling room
& feeding blood’d flesh strawberries & crème & television
& waving & waving & tire.

observe bottom cup (((loading…))) dedicated as leed-removal
stock for all wells
vein. disengaged under a pseudonym sleeper cart
experiencing how a poet tastes
flecksand on lip
layers of pearl
attentive away from self,
: thank you Tom for your correspondance.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

bank-holiday man

His affectations are a dizzying sentiment, played out with the essence of a rapid dictational device – I feel I perhaps should dust of my mathematic textbooks and revise matrices; as judging by his recent consumption (of space, edible vices, technology, entertainment & reportage of sport), I’m sure there is something harshly formulaic in his ‘self’ – his ‘person’ as he apparently ‘chooses’ to define. Perhaps each of us is enslaved to some conscript of culture, perhaps we are all circling a vast ornamental dictum or philosophy, proved to each of us and allowed into some aspect of our physical body.
I guess I should restate my assumptions ()(if there are indeed any) or restate the physical limitations about our understanding of grounded space, cognition, science itself: but the predictions are simple enough. He shall return to ‘his’ abode (the place of his residing, empower his presence (in terms of material consumption) by flicking and allowing a dictation of desire via advertisements, (projected across part of the shared living space) and preach like he actually has some understanding about the foundations of the surrounding culture – OK, he is VERY aware of the rules but this is about its very archietextual design, shelved behind tinted glass (with projected visuals confusing his understanding of information)

Thursday, 6 August 2009


Hello, welcome to presently humid. This blog will be an effective rolling autobiography of life of a queer person in a largely hetero-normative world. I'm not entirely sure what I'll achieve with this, but it makes sense in this age to do something like this. The joys of writing and language etc.


the chef

I have always had severe apprehensions about their cooking, perhaps due scaring from four teenage summers spent as a kitchen hand (in fact, they weren’t all teenage, I may have been 20 by the last). Their recent exclamation to aspire to a particular cockney male left me slightly bewildered at the potential idols for up-and-coming chefs who are not to be stereotyped. The options; Rude, Cockney, Bumbling, Humorous - (all male), or; Lusty, Motherly – (female). Perhaps Nigella needs some feminist inclination backing her, perhaps it is there – but what about something between the two? Occasionally, hangovers spew me to Saturday Morning Kitchen where the delivery remains calm, concise and of essence, and yes – played by a female without any need to sell anything for increased viewing. (On a side, I’m sure its been asked years ago, but back in the day when a common-blooded man would suggest a female’s place is in the vicinity of a stove, how come one can think of more male celebrity chefs?).
Snip tangent. Their recent culinary successes (returning here to my flatmate, occasional lover – I’m sure they won’t mind me slotting that in – all round generally good co-habitué, devotion included) include a rather splendid risotto, overly-minty-though-very-much-to-my-taste-lamb burgers, and a scallop that even a mild reminiscing on results in vast salivation. Ok, give me a correction, get out into reality (provided one doesn’t victimise one who is victim to some harsh cross-breed of anxiety and agoraphobia) and make your way, I believe in queer cooking. The monopoly and mainstream are disinterested – relatively good/bad for us though surprising on their part. I guess they can’t find a joke in it. I guess they’d know we’d take them down.
I know a girl who interned at The Times. However she got from her past job to the one following such an internship is probably lost in the mystery of her nationality. I’d like to think there is a story in this.