Kurchatovium
I gave and did not receive,
I gave and did not receive,
I came and went,
As did THE ROADSIDE PICNIC,
In here..
No one knows what goes on,
Out here in dreamland altered state,
This is the Zone, this is my only home.
A neighbour afflicted of a dust gathered/cigarette cough; pork pie, POT NOODLES and baked beans diet,
Tomorrow MED 4 form tribunal sentenced to death,
I awaiting to sleep on streets without even a pen!
How far you cry you mongerers,
How low for field fallow bound,
Vibrations caused by trains, follow the glass my disabled daughter,
Follow me ye of little faith, so that faith may be found.
I lie on the cusp of the Zone, head in grass, B/W, nay, colour,
The tortured frame of artist deals a hand and says “how’s that?”
Poetical ramblings Kurchatovium: Russian name for element 104;
A short-lived artificially produced transuranic element,
Kurchatovium, Kurchatov, Mr Rus nuclear physicist, shake my hand,
I am that element, come by, come gone,
Here today and invented tomorrow….
Awoke at 4 a.m the rain pelteth heavy, lorry delivery to CO-OP, milk van, back to sleep 7 a.m.
Awake at that hour? Nightmare.
Why? Can’t remember.
Prophesy? Maybe…forthcoming Kurchatovium fleeting element suicide.
We are all desperate in light of facts.
We are all dispensable unless acclaimed by immortality as in deeds done.
We are human unawakened to response.
We are hilarious in conflicts that have gone and will come.
An ex-schoolfriend zinging with life pleased to see me,
A hope in hopeless times of mine; I drag down- how can you crush an ego that has no ego?
Space releases,
Breath intake.
We do not copulate, I do not meet her 2 kids from previous marriage,
And I do not follow her (never see her again),
But for a moment I held…
Space release,
Breath intake,
Hope,
Space,
Exhale.
So cont’d,
Next pt,
Exchange bikes,
Babysitters hard to come by.
Wispless humours congregate,
A shallow dream of androgynous human;
Like a female but with a scar above mons veneris- no fanny, no sex,
Cough, train, cough.
Film plays on= 3 hrs no time in work place,
3 hrs long time for entertainment.
Was your hunger worth it through that dizzy tiredness?
Was your got gotten a literary breech?
Was the lone female, uncaring, voice worth it on the end of the line?
Was the unassociated ZINGING female worth it in drunken time?
Yes.
Yay.
Oh yes.
In Hell I whisper conferences with marketing chumps,
In special friends from Heaven they rescue me in forgiveness;
They said a special prayer for me after my suicide.
All wish in tempered revealings,
A light expose follows on,
U.F.Os become old hat and
And
For
The
Moment…
I am g-get-gone.
To ample parking a whisper in trees,
A cyclist strokes near death and I shake like a detox’ gibbon,
Cause celebre utters shit,
The black humours bare a yoke,
Snub-nosed boy monkey faces me around the entire room,
Na-na-na song and repeated many times in the Meat Grinder.
“You don’t understand!”
A common call to arms.
“ACHOO!”
A common cold.
Where the steps of mind fight the negative.
Where the self-obsessed learn of others.
Where the drunks dry out.
Where the banal is turned into cerebral gold.
Where the poor struggle no more.
Where light sings in me my your you.
Element 104 asks permission to leave,
The more stable ones look on it with pious incredulity,
I say cheerio.
Speech bubbles impair blood flow,
Disco Duck doesn’t show,
Peepholes snap open,
I toothfree belch- VERBOTEN!
Gustav could never understand,
I can’t blame him, reality T.V sucked bigger than infotainment,
Cross arrangement,
Blithe failment,
Indent,
‘I am a German italic bold typeface.’
Kylie Minogue in an erotic dream,
The first stirrings,
Cobwebs- spiders setting up home, this is after all the time of dying flies.
Puerile of me to lust after her, to wet subconscious beak,
I guess that’s my Dirty Spaniel mind.
I guess,
I jest,
Angry poet bollock-brain miss tuck-turn out route (pronounce American),
I-I-I guess,
I gave and misplaced,
I gave and misplaced,
I came over her face; sadness pours through,
Apply thumbscrews.
‘My mother warned me not to marry a…” (fill in the blank).
My mother reading from Anderson’s Laurie NERVE BIBLE,
My father playing golf on the moon,
My brother covering for Scotty on the Enterprise,
Me in a hand-squeezy rickshaw death erotica obscure.
I lie on the cusp of the Zone, head in, head out,
Storms 70 m.p.h rain gust,
Hull, aye, up North or bust!
I
’ve been here before and it was true torture then,
I’ve been here before and it’ll drive me mad again,
I’ve made a promise to make a break,
I’ve made an error in my cheapened state,
All will conquer,
All will be right,
All will stuff full in turkey shed bass.
Slit eyes on mask,
Faces schizophrenic gaggle out,
Early to bed, early to rise,
High-rise block of flats shithouse filled with dogs,
Depression stalker,
Shitehawk plunderer,
Draught excluder snake tells me of past D.H.S.S occupants;
Porn-like details issue forth in ease as it takes the brunt of 70 m.p.h wind,
I smile and comment, “my mother always warned me about…”
Put another quid in the meter,
Coco Pops me up,
Slush Puppy blueside down,
Sleep nap comes in weighty breath,
We all wait for something,
She waits to be blessed.
Bliss comes at 17:30, the call centre lines go dead,
Time to go home, time to enter the Zone,
Parked up and ready somnambulistic nap takes hold,
Crisp, rain washed day away,
Away,
Get gone gotten
Aches and pains.
Cold sufferers take heart in pharmaceutical quick dispense fix,
No rhymes in rap- so what good is it?
I question mark in bubble,
Guitars soar in distortion/reverb big bliss,
This is how it feels to be…
This is where we get off…
Cheap songs and programming clash with Trade Centre/Pentagon and general U.S sufferage,
No lines or words can match the pictures,
I only wish to take those souls to the Zone; a mediocre sentiment at best,
11/9/01 a date etched.
Onward to life, reality too inclusive,
Retreat and pass as quickly Kurchatovium, sense,
Relay,
Best speech,
Best left
Unsaid.
Eaten by images too strong, brain matter caves in,
Half-silences, half-remembered,
Kumite, war if you will, release,
Release.
Flashes nought in retrospective glances,
Humour bruised upon beach,
A whole sector of Cypriot business property dreamt of sold,
I know this means the end of something,
Futures uncertain, worse than a song I once wrote.
I speculate to dream candour,
Speech marks sing off the time,
Fleeting element repeated,
Cursor punches wall that does not exist,
A rambling voicebox tickling cough ejects fair weather to storm.
Walls close us.
Greed fills us blind in sack race absurdity.
Anxiety uproars from paid instalments that cannot be met.
Football cheers just for a short time,
I confess,
From out of many mouths a silly, simple, song,
Rounded up we fear ourselves or what we may do,
I pass the ball but am crap,
Resist rhyme,
To unrhyme myself.
Gotten again
Ill-gotten gains.
All my past glances count for something in flowers sent,
All my past/present thoughts tumultuous to circumstance D.H.S.S,
We are all accountable in the field of injustice,
We are all an amalgamation of rich ice lolly bought at petrol services; babe smiles,
We are what we eat all through a false summer solstice; controlled by the moon..I ask you!
We are all G.M modified by tying down to winged nuts golden materialism.
Where the lost find a home.
Where the vicar takes platonic tea.
Where the established bitch authoress sells her cunt for perfume tie-in.
Where the Cross means war.
Where the serious author is sucked to the death-teeth of his own ass.
Kurchatovium zips past, “hello…oh…must go.”
Where I appear and dissipate like a bad smell.
A hundred gods bow down from a previous poem; the music is everywhere on this one!
Shit piles up in the bog- oh plumber!
Corpulent lass reminds me of shit New Year’s Eve party- she dates a dork who is shagging around.
My wisps of memory turn gold into bronze, diamonds to dust,
My economy finds a new beach on which to land,
Shares fall and rise, like the usual tides; the moon I ask you!
She watched me for a yr on living with him…ah well. A bore.
He was oblivious, the best way, suits came and went.
Homage to the quick,
A Brecht-like tip of the hat,
“Walking around with my dick in my hands!”
Cease
Oh
Ye
Ceaseless things.
Run on
Turbine churns cabbage,
POLICE cold
For
This
Time
Of
Year.
Tears are gone,
My mind turns about,
Poem
Rings,
RINGS,
Ring on,
Ms, Marple takes it
To
The
Bridge.
Prevail.
Prevail, a word all talked of in element fleeting.
I am unwanted,
Terrorists are wanted,
I am,
I am,
I am the mean whirl wild wind,
Words in actions,
Speech in thought processes.
He dreamt of a home where an imaginary wife wants him,
Of a time from being pulled from the abyss,
Where sold souls go cheap,
Where necessary inclusion of Kurchatovium comes abreech, missed,
Country home, beamed-in satellite homes, fast bike debt finish.
Jaguar car marks connection,
Shanks Pony speaks,
Warbling chicken food poisoning unbless,
Speech marks of fountain pen run out,
Wank on, wank off, poem,
Lyrically unsound,
2nd Thursday of October Nobel Peace Prize for Literature announced again,
Kylie’s bum spins around more in my mind, like a long lost mate.
What feels where we be?
What bye-byes should we feel?
What should fall in the out-takes in the film?
What Xmas can be where will we?
What time is it?
Picture the mind in old banger Ford Fiesta £495 dream.
T.N.T surmount and suppress dripping holes of Big Mac stools.
Literature dressed as happy home (he dreams of this).
Rhyming couplets do a bunk up to the 3rd bunk, soap torture wish.
Prevail,
Ah
Prevail.
Vice-president of company weeps into his Weetabix morning fix,
Disabled daughter transmits a thought I would never have addressed,
She says, “he speaks in tongues of outward angels,”
Kleenex makes a big, bigger-than-that, wish.
Results count,
There are yes’s to be found even in no’s.
Why are you shit?
Because of A
B
C
Couldn’t give a shit.
Don’t try hard enough.
Try not at all.
Study the above, all the same, ebook drain,
My main vein seeks a…
Cease.
Kurchatovium,
Rutherfordium (U.S name for 104, above),
We silent speak in this.
We silent speak in this, ah nay, no bless.
Arrive in colour to my home, ahh, too sophisticated, the Zone.
He said he could rid me of this, no step stones in Ireland, nay bliss,
I took her home yrs ago, in the pouring rain, spanked her ass,
Saw her tonight, mate also recognised me, they left hastily, had a laugh.
How still it is, the Zone,
Unlike Kurchatovium; like grown up poetry I try to pretend,
Like a serious career I will ne’er make amends.
Necessary inclusion,
Necessary refusal,
Necessary cessation till the end,
Necessary mate-bait non-friend.
I whisper in coarse grasses and rpt everything from before,
Here it is different, here in the Zone, in freedom undo gone,
Disturbed minds take us from afar, down a disused well,
Special friends smile at our intellectual inferiority, they have the last laugh.
And I speak,
And I speak,
But I am unheard,
How far is £17,000 for commission from an ex-fuck-friend?
HOW SOON IS NOW? An old song that has lost its taste.
How to begin in epic proportions without being stale.
Big titted women, fresh tits, SUNDAY SPORT returns,
Happiness in joviality; stupidity and ignorance rain- no place for haunted men,
Whistler portrait burns,
Hockney fucks off (at last!),
Bacon steps up from the grave and says “cheerio!” (Pissed again)
Mild beards worry me,
Smoking a pipe haunts,
Fields and rocks, slag left in piles on the Mendips,
Down with Zone time,
All past loves pass into none- hurt abyss,
Zone time,
Bolt on rag thrown,
Zone,
Kissing cousins, she is an adult now, sexual and home pretence,
I am Stalker in Zone; different from them,
Zone time spills out,
Distortion guitar speaks on!
Paper sheets lost in the wind, printed spreadsheets, my experience goes on,
Poetic cinematic images find a fall in misappropriated M.T.V images;
They haunt my mind, I terror away from them,
Young cunt does battle with old cunt; but it’s all the same,
I escape to the Zone and am free again.
Am free again,
Am free again,
When poverty speaks a prayer I fall down in street,
The hopeless embrace me in a dreamland; Aborigines give their thumbs up.
I am free again, I release myself in giggles, that music comes again,
Set the cow on fire, we peter out in the madman refrain,
What do I speak? I have not, cannot tell you.
She wanted me in the angels of tomorrow, predicting the past,
I fine wined myself from the situation, all is dead,
All is dead.
Gunshot,
Alsation,
Jag’ explodes,
Friend’s black tears mould themselves from tyranny,
Old V.C.R speaks, where will it end?
“I like fighting. I want a fight.”
2 shallow fucks say on early Sun’ morn’; enter the Zone my friends…
Our life will robust, ousted from broken tit-rib start,
Punk rock dies a death at 3,000 ft above sea level in French Alps.
Fashion faux pas will not be tolerated,
My life hangs in the balance, although I know the end result,
The Zone is my only welcome
And I watch more shit, late night, T.V.
God bless all who…
God…where have I gone?
This is my home,
This is…
Pistol pushed into stagnant water at the end of the Meat Grinder,
“Return, you suicide!”
250 sit-ups cannot account for beer gut,
250 shags cannot amount to love, though we attempt to fit in.
I never wanted to be…
I never wanted to be a writer, the hrs are too long on your own.
I never,
I never realised I could wish for death so glibly.
I awoke, like awake but dot dot dot different.
I forget alliteration and continue like this, i.e a doddering fool.
We embrace the gentle, repulsed by the intellectual truth, a misery of our past lives.
Dream of cycling onto a motorway, get lost; go into arcade.
Ex-girlfriend promises fellatio,
It comes to pass in a scientific, shit, demonstration of a condom being inflated.
Dream of….
Dream of….tomorrow.
I awoke with my demons in the same room, they taunt, I feel fear,
Yet not one of them has the decency to finish me;
A stranglehold upon the cerebral cortex,
An interruption forever on the hypothalamus,
ZINGING with life?
My arse.
Out from the bulb that flickers and then turns bright.
Out from my gut ingested bile- vomit.
Out from a solace place, she touched my hand in fond memories.
We speak,
I speak,
Out in alsation whispers and whines,
The pleasure takes hold,
I enfold,
Entreat,
Poem up,
Common cause epic silence no nuke ‘em bomb can destroy.
An attractive coloured girl with hair hot-combed straight and dyed red,
Niet.
For a moment in carnal desire,
Yah,
Qui,
Yeah,
Oh yeah,
I fumble,
I fumble on,
104,
106,
101,
Room of darkest fears est Orwell,
To cast out,
Without qualms,
4 of the A.M,
neighbour awake,
I
Thirst on,
Thirst on.
We speak,
Kurchatovium, Rutherfordium,
SPEAK!
Silence issues through lone dark embraces with the self,
A bitter pill in a gulf aquatic shelf.
Abstract nonsense,
Abstract Kurchatovium.
The Bomb goes off,
It will bring us together in an elemental suicide,
You disgust me,
I perchance see your ruse,
You disgust me,
I have nothing else to use.
The wayward path is not to be followed in Kurchatovium,
My stain-filled pants point only to U.S Rutherfordium.
Arms race?
Into space.
Literary genius?
Mons veneris.
Ink splain- blot out,
Ink pain- come about.
As a dancer dances,
As an artist paints,
My pain-filled dreams haunt beyond, cheap, given, comparisons.
As a wisher beats upon the Lottery believing it,
As a Zone inhabitant lends a hand to pull me to death,
I recalcitrant, espouse happiness.
As the Kurchatovium,
Fleeting
Element,
I
Whisper
On,
In my own ground,
Never found,
Huddled in a sleepless tire,
Ne’er bound,
This is the Zone,
My only home.
To ending, as in water poured,
To wayward sons (not my disabled daughter),
Rain blesses in this endless field of dreams,
Calculated rhymes dispense, and as above, born town visited,
This is the Zone,
My only home,
This is the place where I will die happy,
As in Kurchatovium,
The Zone,
My only home,
My only home.
*
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