Life draped
in a form of
processes and
laws
is distorted life.
Plead with life,
beg of it to be
springing
from a soil
from a collective
from our own hands
human plowed and sown
flowing from such
a condition of
life
life that
expresses itself
prepared by people
by a hundred million people
by a hundred million hundred million
people
not stunted by the will of
one
(cut-up: Native Son – Richard Wright)
‘Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene’ ~ e e cummings
This is a delightful collection of poems by Vik Shirley and from the collector of such delights The Red Ceilings Press.
It is a quick romp of a read so I won’t quote the brisk poetically sexual aphorisms and spoil the frolicing fun, apart from the following which I have already posted on twitter as an obvious tease,
Other poets/writers will empathise with so many of the scenarios, not that it will be an exclusive thrill for them. There are so many revelations to discover: where artefacts are found; the use of aquamarine.
You should try and get your copy now as a Red Ceilings run is always limited to 40 copies, though I suspect there might well be the stamina and need for another quick one.
Get it here, so to speak.
Artists are
make-believe,
invention and
image and
humanity, power
with more force
than millions and
millions of others,
as with the
actuality chiefs
of what’s real
and mere greatest
number. Recruit
to our version:
believe to
make artists.
(cut-up: The Adventures of Augie March – Saul Bellow)
A mouthswarm
of the indescribable,
the uncreated,
I could hear
I could hear
moth
but ripples and
radiancies
and mirror-like
sounds
created,
a heroin wind of sound
mainlined to the mind
reborn.
I could hear the angels of sound
swarm.
(cut-up: On the Road – Jack Kerouac)
~
Romero’s bullfighting
was ridiculous,
a faked look of purity
as if a beautiful feeling
was attainable in killing.
An emotional pass would
emphasize their closeness
and safe exposure,
him and bull
bull and him
Romero and horns
horns and Romero,
but it was bull
in the absolute killing.
(cut-up: The Sun Also Rises – Earnest Hemingway)
~
Dust
and
dust
and
dust
What’ll we do?
Oat beard
grass heads
and turtle,
tiddly-winks of
the same coin,
passive and
spun
Full of the Holy
in the grass,
here’s me preachin’
with eyes of dust
To profit the dust
some worshipped
mathematics
but God knows
what measured men
squatting in dust
Like jalopies
bustin’ with sawdust –
Christ, what they is
jus’ sold is
God Almighty
folks in ruins
(cut-up: The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck)
(found mash-up with 1828 Webster’s Dictionary)
was never there
frankly,
a fragment
from Luke
as broken as damned
sentimentalities.
So starting all over
to give a care:
My dear, it’s
best to mend fragments,
glue them together
as new,
a clean slate
from Frank,
an adverb for
ingenuous repair.
(cut-up: Gone With the Wind – Margaret Mitchell)
Is the stated empathy of the caveat sincere or a ‘we care’ marketing ploy? Who knows, and I am doubtful.
I actually wholly support/want the cremation-only route, but think I have seen cheaper versions to this. And I kid you not (a sign?), as I was erasing this, the TV was on and a Pure Cremation advertisement played. The price – presumably entry-level, excusing the proverbial – was £1,500.
For a burn?
gravyfromthegazebo 