Put on yr happy image
Look at yourself in the mirror
Walk in the windy street
In the image of the
Happy city.
Put on yr happy image
And face the crowds
Of your own dreams.
Walk in the happy-image'd
Street on Saturday-
Walk to the bottom of the
Road. At night,
Turn and face
The shards of yr happy image,
Shattered in the grate.
Friday 23 July 2010
Wednesday 21 July 2010
Angel of Death
Angel of death come n take me away
Angel of death let me listen to yr ghettoblaster
feel yr wrinkled fingers yr lips so cold
Your face like alabaster Your limbs like marble
Your face is not cruel Your face is kind
Angel of death you got a machine gun a Kodak lens
Angel of death you're a cyber machine you're the static
The gap between the ad break and the TV show
You're a broken voice on the stereo
You're what is written on the blank white computer screen
Your face is as impassive
Downloading pictures of epiphany-
Drawn by Durer in red ink ... captions
Scribed by Goethe in black.
You stand in the corner of my room
Yr face turned away Yr shadow is my shroud
The dust you bring shall cover me.
You seem to sniff the white plaster of my blank walls
I should have laid out pictures- The agonies of Christ
The Holy Spirit- The Holy Virgin sacrificed.
Touch me with your hand o Angel of Death
Teach me to love
And on my smooth shoulders place wings (like Jim)
So that i may fly into a boundless night
That will be your benediction, your prayer
Your majesty and might.
Angel of death let me listen to yr ghettoblaster
feel yr wrinkled fingers yr lips so cold
Your face like alabaster Your limbs like marble
Your face is not cruel Your face is kind
Angel of death you got a machine gun a Kodak lens
Angel of death you're a cyber machine you're the static
The gap between the ad break and the TV show
You're a broken voice on the stereo
You're what is written on the blank white computer screen
Your face is as impassive
Downloading pictures of epiphany-
Drawn by Durer in red ink ... captions
Scribed by Goethe in black.
You stand in the corner of my room
Yr face turned away Yr shadow is my shroud
The dust you bring shall cover me.
You seem to sniff the white plaster of my blank walls
I should have laid out pictures- The agonies of Christ
The Holy Spirit- The Holy Virgin sacrificed.
Touch me with your hand o Angel of Death
Teach me to love
And on my smooth shoulders place wings (like Jim)
So that i may fly into a boundless night
That will be your benediction, your prayer
Your majesty and might.
old thoughts of school
It's funny this dry dust of classroom, the misty windows, the grey sills.
And teacher, a slob like you, with his loosely-held "authority", in his meaningless shirt and trousers, starch-washed, as meaningless as your uniform.
It's strange the primitive knifemarks of graffiti on the desk, the anxious scrawl. It's strange how many things go wrong from the teacher or tutor's mouth to your ear, how much is misunderstood or forgotten, how the vain preambles of language result so often in nothing.
What a void is education. It's energy dissipated and ruined, cast forward into the classroom, trampled over, wasted. It's the bleak and dissatisfied teacher, that clumsy, fleshy human just like you, with the same arrogance and emptiness. Formalised education is just a ritual played out for ritual reasons.
And teacher, a slob like you, with his loosely-held "authority", in his meaningless shirt and trousers, starch-washed, as meaningless as your uniform.
It's strange the primitive knifemarks of graffiti on the desk, the anxious scrawl. It's strange how many things go wrong from the teacher or tutor's mouth to your ear, how much is misunderstood or forgotten, how the vain preambles of language result so often in nothing.
What a void is education. It's energy dissipated and ruined, cast forward into the classroom, trampled over, wasted. It's the bleak and dissatisfied teacher, that clumsy, fleshy human just like you, with the same arrogance and emptiness. Formalised education is just a ritual played out for ritual reasons.
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