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/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

My dear Oscar,

A little something – written some time ago ….. (some sort of frustration – who knows?):

Goddamn this place.

This place which is EVERY OTHER PLACE I CAN THINK OF.

And mine are not the grievances of a tiny minority, but the grievances of a silent majority – silent because they do not choose to speak – only to perform. Silent because that is the safest escape route (the way to get on your bike mate).

This which has the surface veneer of acceptance, of tolerance, of understanding, of commitment, of promise and promise again. This which keeps the eyes watching at the window, and the lump in the throat and the claustrophobic self-absorption, the tentative reaches of self-destruction. The way – a way – to have done with it. A run away. So often to slam the doors with a soft thud, final to the ear, and lock and bolt and barricade and sit in fuming madness.

‘In your own asylum’, they say, not he, they, they all say, they in their judges’ robes who note and surmise and pretend that they know it all, for what they see around them is all they wish for. The same bland toleration and acceptance, boring to the nth tprw.

This permitted level of intercourse. Fuck you(rself).

To force again those hysterical reactions, those screams and tears and blinding tempers, those tantrums and high pitched, nervous enquiries, that deep, wounding concern. That frenzy of animated mental activity which grapples for words and explanations, rationalisations, calming, soothing, whispering arms around your shoulders. As if to rub it all away. As if you might ever have been a fool to yourself.

As if you have been wrong (again).

As if.

As if that could ever be so.

Seeing not with eyes but with distorted visions of pressing temples, and of pain, racking, hacking, bleeding, neverending … there is the wet poisson (just like a smack in the face, attack in the face, the little knowing pick me up).

I do not believe it again.

Sempre idem.

Sempre – always.

(I think it means ‘always the same’, but who cares if the wonders of education, marvellous, full and encyclopaedic education leave me in a state of ignorance?)

Who cares what lessons we have learned?

Who cares to place in perspective all the little details, all the shadings and the colours to paint a dream of a glowing picture?

Who cares to have the beauty of the truth, or the truth of the beauty, or the real thing?

‘I know I say that I don’t’, (when I do).

‘Don’t you?’

‘Have you been lying to me, is that what it is?’

‘Have you got everything you came for?’

Bitter, biting, barbarous thoughts. Looking on the dark side of the moon. Keeping the smile until it can be used again. Like noticing a clump of blue flowers, that you notice are forget me nots. Forget me not … (as if it were possible).

I know a man who thought of death and contemplated suicide. And there they are.

I feel an expanding frustration. I feel intolerant, and I will not accept all you offer because it is not enough … and no, I will not leave you alone.

I will always be in hot pursuit, even if you hang yourself. You think and you believe whatever it is you think and you believe, as if whatever it is is all there is, as if there is no more.

No more, they cry, but my dagger twists too.

I wish that I could be a silly fucker, but I’m just too good at it.

No more, they cry, because they are shivering wrecks within their suits of armour, and what they want is to run home to their mummies. What they need is to …

Take some control.

Forge that big old hand of destiny.

Put things into some perspective.

What they’ll do is knock themselves cold, senseless and incapable, not able to, not even able to stand up and see …

Who am I talking to?

You?

….. charming, don’t you think, Oscar?

Algernon B Duffoure.

What we know …

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

Dear Oscar,

We live under the impression that things were more basic, less refined, more brutal in your time, but if you could see the levels of brutality that exist in this day and age, Oscar, you would be horrified. You see, we know all about everything nowadays, whereas I think in your time it was far easier not to know; we are bombarded with hard facts moment by moment, when in your time you were dependent upon word of mouth and the printed word to learn about anything. In that respect at least I think you probably had an easier time of it. There is no real possibility of living in blissful ignorance these days, except that, and this is the strangeness of it, the sheer incessant nature of reportage, of updates, of information, makes it impossible to take it all in, so that actually much is simply filtered away, not prioritised, unmarked in its effect. Often the most terrible tragedies are reported in news reports, and are then quickly brushed aside because some more humorous story is given significance. So maybe it is the case that blissful ignorance is in fact the normal state of being, even as we are being saturated with information.

You knew what your knew; we do not seem to know what we think we know.

I will write again,

Your friend,

Agernon B. Duffoure.

Today’s Quotation

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

Dear Oscar,

Consider the below:

“A child who finds himself rejected and attacked on all sides is not likely to develop dignity and poise as his outstanding traits.  He develops defences.  Like a dwarf in a world of menacing giants, he cannot fight on equal terms.  He is forced to listen to their derision and laughter and submit to their abuse … He may withdraw into himself, speaking little to the giants and never honestly.  He may band together with other dwarfs, sticking close to them for comfort … Or he may out of despair find himself acting the part that the giants expect, and gradually grow to share his master’s own uncomplimentary view of dwarfs.  His natural self love may, under the persistent blows of contempt, turn his spirit to criticism and self hate”.  

GORDON ALLPORT, THE NATURE OF PREJUDICE, (Addison Wesley, 1954), pp. 142-143.

Published, as you have no doubt noted, long after your death, and probably in a mode of expression somewhat alien to your own times, although you too wrote about giants, had something of  fairy-tale mentality, so I cannot see that it is much of stretch to come to an understanding of what this quote is actually saying.  

It is interesting to note that the prejudice from which you suffered was not in and of yourself, was not as such self-directed, imposed upon yourself as a reaction to the word of the giants that surrounded you, but was more purely their own, or society’s own, in which you passed for so long as someone to be praised and lauded, to be revered even, until the prejudice came to be public censure.

I do wonder what it must have been like to be the sort of dwarf that you were, so very popular, until the giants waiting in the wings (with their bouquets of cabbage leaves) finally got to you.  It is almost a strange mystery that condemnation has to be pointed out, and then whipped up, before it is anything at all.  Bizarre, Oscar, that there must have been people you knew who on one day were your ardent admirers, and only days later were in direct opposition to you spouting their venom in print and in voice!  And the silent, more lethal I fear, who said nothing but had their thoughts, and who let those thoughts run free and become a lynching once those thoughts were given permisiion to be..  All just a media storm?  An early media storm?  Public opinion urged into being by confirming suspicions, by offering proof, by retelling a story which had been of victory across stages (even continents, so we are told – after all, you did tour America!)

All something of a mystery …

And about what …

Hope you like my artwork!

Your friend,

Algernon B. Duffoure.

Echoes

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

Dear Oscar,

I hope you enjoyed my recent epic poem;  it was a labour of love some time ago, and I felt keenly that it should be aired.  I appreciate the time you were willing to give to it.  All rather introspective and difficult to follow, I know, but that’s me for you – rather difficult to follow but well worth the effort with the multitudinous rewards that can be gained!  I continue, as you know, to question shared perceptions of reality, on all sorts of issues, and to keep on occupying a position of opposition to mose established tropes – particularly around the rule bound societies that ordain how we as individuals are to live our lives.  Now I know that things have changed drastically through the centuries, and that you yourself witnessed some of those changes, but essentially versions of the status quo keep on trying to reassert themselves and power is retained in the hands of a limited few.  You poked a finger at the seat of power, pinched its bottom with ribald wit and caricature – and look, dear Oscar, where that got you!

I am hoping I will fair better.  I am living a life of relative seclusion, and am therefore not open to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune in quite the same way you were – not yet at least.  This is my very first foray into any form of public declaration, and to date I have not courted fame and notoriety in the ways that you did.  Not that there has been no impact.  Of course I have operated within the confines of my own society for many years, and at several junctures have found myself having to make choices which either uphold or challenge the modus operandi.  Where there was a choice, then I made a choice, but of course on many occasions my choices were actually dictated by the society around me, and therefore limited in their scope.  I could do x or y, both of which may have been unpalatable to me, but neither of which could be avoided, unless I wished to place my liberty and well-being at stake.  That is how serious making a choice can sometimes be;  you can stand in defiance of some movement or other, some dictate which is unquestionably wrong in your own mind, some person even who grabs power for themselves and then abuses it, but then there will be consequences, and sometimes they can be dire.  We have seen it over and over again.  You must have seen it too, although I get the impression that in your time there were not really the means of mass dissemination of facts and materials, uncontrolled by corporation or state, so that merely hearing about things must have been difficult.

In our age we are besieged by information, and some of it we accept and some of it we reject.  We are influenced one way or the other by the dominant mores, and every now and again we may exercise our right to choose, if choice, itself, is actually available to us.

All I know, Oscar dear, is that you were treated most unjustly, and that it is that legacy of injustice which still to some greater and lesser extent holds sway, in varying ways, across the entire globe.

In this day and age I have some pride in who I am allowed to be, but I am well aware that it is allowed to me, it is not a given.

Best wishes to you, despite your levels of ongoing castigation,

Your friend,

Algernon B. Duffoure.

Here and Now (part 5)

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

5.

Pencil in your life,

Write out my life.

Such testimony,

Deep testimonials,

Making something out of nothing.

Please do not deny – remember

How sad you were, how lonely.

Absolute imperative,

Keep flying the countless metaphor, oh, be!

Factory productions,

The making of recollection –

One point only

(And of course it will show through)

Within restrictions.

Too much in purdah;

Shadows flitting,

Eyes slitting,

And other hands clamped over mouths.

A noisy and noise filled silence,

A contemplation never completed,

A trip me up, a fall me down,

Go on, trip up, fall down,

Catch a catch can.

Mattresses laid out end to end,

Side by side, comfort caressing,

Back to comfort, food and recreation.

On track to track back track down

Here, too

Now, too

Go on, uplift.

Success – always in the seeking,

Never out of reach,

Always the chase,

Just around the corner and the thrill of anticipation.

Deferment.

Referral to deferral,

And reference to deference.

Oh my limited scope!

So jewelled and close,

So just right here and just right now.

Dispense with useless ill health

And tiredness and bodily aches and pains

For, ah, there, no, here, it is.

Perfection on a palette.

Rhymed and round and timed cut sound,

Now time here now.

And constant repetition

Make the point.

Jive to the jingle!

Do you want it again?

Could be starting up –

Splat, splat, splat, splat

(On belly).

Make my meal massage merrily,

And no boring love songs,

No small time bit lyric,

But epic proportions,

For you and me.

Greatness and grandeur

At the touch of a fingertip,

Just the press of a keyboard,

An indentation, a mark,

A swipe, a kiss, some blood dripping,

Life flowing, well, no escape.

Embrace it, here and now.

Make it, here and now.

Paint that picture gross and huge in its restriction,

Flowing over into eyefulls,

Brainfood and food for thought,

And haunting images to ghost through lived experience.

Acquire a poignant and penned timelessness,

As has always been, a syncopation, a simulation,

A verisimilitude, a deep, deep joy.

No reason not to be.

A smug faced smirk, and irksome giggle,

Lest those who are loved

(All those who are out there)

Should dry up and not clasp hands.

My message to you –

Do and die.

Chin up, might say, face up!

How fine and fine drawn and cut is the face up.

Art as life born, and living, and ready to be.

Offering solace,

And transfer to great and the greatness of guilt,

There is no better way of putting it across –

Access all areas.

Make the reverberations everywhere.

Give out grins and seeded smiles

Abound, not hope, but here,

Not wait, but now.

Can’t get away from it, nor want to.

Nor off it, nor possible, please,

(Pleasanterie plantationed)

Perfect, pregnant, and high proteined,

Sickeningly happy all of the time, and why not?

Death is release, and all suffering is joy.

All feeling the same way, all the time, really.

Give it out, take it in,

Go on, kill and mutilate me,

Enjoy yourself, I’ll be laughing.

Frighten me, quake me, send me up –

I’ll be laughing.

Blow me up, blow me away!

Just join winds and dreams and poetry,

And fixed points of reference,

And knew me some-time.

Long and longest time in the going –

Faded back into streaming paints,

Correctly pictured and images for life.

Lest I repeat, repeat myself –

Here and now, I mean

Here and now, I mean (you).

It’s got nothing to do with me.

This has nothing to do with me – you’re reading it.

Or is there someone screaming in your face?

Or are you hearing voices?

Or are you deaf, dumb, and blind?

Or pretending to be?

Or locked in?

Or hand on glass pressing release?

Or the embodiment of artistry and beauty?

I thought so.

Here and Now (part 4)

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

4.

Viscosity locked between frog spawn,

Raindrops falling, and up again,

Get it off pat, learn the language,

By form and rote, round, in circles,

Top to tail, top and tail,

Round fruit unchanging.

Gay lives lost in such floss.

Could just say: I love you.

Bastardised, brutalised, battered and bruised,

Holes in broken hearts and seeping, unhealing sores.

Rubbing pus such affection,

Gagging on swollen tongues,

Far too much pretended understanding and pretenses of love.

Not my: I love you.

Gather up in large arms and hold close,

Moody, muddled, and seemingly morose,

Never will stop me.

Never will want to stop me, too much to say –

Never an end.

Here and Now (part 3)

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

3.

Gashing this with teeth flaring

Meat for the hook

My meat on a platter

Feeding frenzedly

And choking on gobs of gristle.

Long hope.

Long shot.

Do what you want, including all that you can.

Do what you must, no refusal.

Blank walls, blank pages,

Blank days, blanket close huddle,

Messages through the airwaves.

Veiled communication lost in blinks of eyes –

Blink of an eye and all over.

Making space to make space,

Sense to make sense.

Sensations nervously vibrating somewhere beneath the surface,

Slight movements, and feet tapping, tails wagging,

Somewhere, in another room, in another house, vision, vista,

Open up, see, petals splayed,

Love orgasm and leopard spots,

Attenuated vulva velvet.

Desperation and pretense –

Honesty and truth, meet me!

Meeting honesty and truth.

Confrontation and emotional blackmail.

Bad, bad boy.

Just ten sins a day adding through a lifetime

Sinning on someone else’s account

Sinning for personality.

You get in there, weaving and dodging,

Smiles creeping around doorways

To anger and upset.

Locked in a mantrap

Feet going in mouths

Placidly unruffled silver surface

Stretched stark over mountainous seas,

My luck aiming high

Cards topple

No reading

Here and now.

No need to worry and let them do what they will –

Headaches float off, drug haze lifts.

Avoidance as long as possible

(Still beating heart).

Catchphrases abound, skipalong,

Skipalong, input, input,

Soaking to the skin.

Living life ever young,

Wrinkled children old and new

(Deep shadows beneath all eyes)

One view promulgated,

Act, write, paint, work, play, eat, shit hard.

Never let a moment slip by –

How can it be empty?

Filling up like bags of sick,

Always indulging, always giving, saving up

Good memory for ending.

Constant fear trapping too far off the beaten track,

Only lounging around,

And out to spoil everything, vindictively.

Knock from any pedestal,

Shatter any image, back down –

This is what we are!

Our holes gaping wide and vacuous

And deeply penetrable –

Lit up from inside

But barely required.

To be not noticed.

Secondary.

Having to take second place.

Primary unit, oh my, oh my, all so fine.

Back to primal love score, and drugged interchange,

And highs ever whipped up into highs,

Where we want to stay, lest it all come crashing down, around our years.

And of course there may be the lurking impression that there is nothing here for you,

But I do not need to assure you only love flows,

Virgin and horrible,

With terrifying and terrific consequences.

Out all day and so alone –

You know what I mean,

Yes you do.

Think of the impact, come shining through,

Moments through the hit parade.

So happy with it all.

Have to give out something worth biting into –

We all have other blood to spurt and flow,

Just wash your hands,

Self proclamation,

Life reading,

Clairvoyance.

Reading and writing and uncertain transmission,

Unknowing reception.

Power and control, weak, don’t leave me!

Always the opposite,

Who the hell are you?

Are you?

And I too.

Here and Now (part 2)

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

My dear Oscar,

I will continue to indulge myself with the second part of my epic poem, Here and Now; I am sure you will enjoy it – if nothing else it will take your mind off somewhere else from wherever it is that you are languishing! A life of languishing – or so it seems,

Best wishes, as ever,

Algernon B. Duffoure.

2.

Staggered, foot in front,

Drag, be, foot behind,

Weight distributed, uneven terrain,

Lurch forward, backward.

No smile on any face, just nervous hatred,

Deep rooted intolerance of all things breathing,

Envy ungreen, but knowing,

Inadequacy bare, nubile, vulnerable, naked with tits.

Collating no more, marking.

Nor anyone shall weep.

Cries.

Dies.

Legacy unwarranted and unwanted,

Stuck in a drawer,

Drawing water, veiled tear lecturettes and picture books,

And sketchy outlines and no interest shown,

And no sympathy given,

And no empathy established –

Just bumper cars which do not collide.

Too deep rooted suspicion and intolerance.

Not tolerated, 

Nor encompassed,

Nor encouraged,

Just growing feathers and shitting in trees,

With separate piles of shit.

Forming a view, building up

Layer upon layer,

Not what is seen, but what is put there.

Green salads of existence.

Water, life, pulse, death,

Rotting invertebrates, churning closely,

Contemplating or coping with pieces of misery.

Make it all

(My piece, my portion, what I am given)

Happen to me.

No more the indulgence of youth

But only the self indulgence.

Rain and drain and feign my pleasure,

Waiting for pleasure,

Always in anticipation, and highspots lost

Through cables of transmission, too gone, too over, too close.

Useless pursuit – chasing arcs en ciel,

Sucking lead, grim, stunted,

Shattered and underfoot,

Eaten by dogs, children taunting,

Anxiety flooding back from other sources.

Take me on board.

Non reactive, and only elaborated in plastic filigree,

Playing the part, just nothing to say.

One day you’ll be without me.

Making something from nothing, fabrication and invention

Making a mark like a piss stain.

Interpreting and writing out of a hole,

Too close to tears in isolated and self violating splendour

To be seen and acted away,

With beautiful and rapid script,

And mark my yesterday.

Contentment lost beneath the surface,

Wanting the shock and sharp and pick me up verses,

(Melodic muttering).

Just wait and see what is left behind –

Too good to be true.

And in truth I lie all the time,

Couched and bedded inventories,

Unsought itineraries,

Just a bag slung over a shoulder

And a reception for unwarranted thoughts.

A bolster for unmitigated actions,

And blows to a punchbag.

Pregnant, rent, and gaping,

Fingers in wounds (pulling out the entrails)

And not mine but everyone’s.

No rain today, just slithery.

No time today, just endless.

Endless pick me up and moods of bodily functions

And chemical input directing me.

Only a reason to catch it if you can,

Only a reason not to.

Only a drawn affinity in pictogram and brushes.

Go with the flow, only is the flow, of matter against matter –

Continental shelves.

Summarily and coarsely received,

Detracted from and unanalyzed,

Fleeting impressions, and the collisions of moody interplay.

Making of yourself mine, where mine is but worthless and to be tampered with, and yours is all.

Out to destroy and be destroyed, or to upset and be upset.

If I don’t get enough then why not give me more?

Indifference and reactive only to violence and loneliness.

Glass walls erected and keeping in and out.

Only visuals to play with, and make into something,

Only mental imagery to elaborate and build upon.

With no action, and no activation,

No contact, nor continuation.

Hurt and left to hurt,

Bleeding and left to bleed.

Ineffectual niceties cushioning ill feeling and masking awed and inspirational reach out and touch –

Expecting or accepting response,

Sharing nothing because nothing is shared –

One way systems.

Ink into blotting paper, blotters sodden to bits.

Skating in glistening step along lines well travelled and figures laid out and lives laid out to order.

One way of being shagged out – shagged to death.

Cannot slow down, cannot relax, got to keep it going.

Trickle, tickle, up there,

Worming its way up there,

And all for you.

The lopping off of genital contact.

Eating shit shat by others,

And chit chat mildews into lively fungal forms,

With spots pricked out in bas relief,

And such terminology not lost on the knowing ignorant.

Cannot discount a thing,

And never a price to pay,

Only constant perversity,

Unadulterated and never denied.

Filling it in, not fleshing it out.

And more than a line to say

(More than an impress)

Build up a fantasy, whip up a dream,

Create a living entity you call myself, I call you.

Might be nothing with nothing holding it all.

See what a wonderful person I am

While I am mistreating you.

There is some menstrual stain in trying,

Some locked in, locked out, getting closer.

I’d like to teach the world to zing, and pulse rhythm.

Fiddle, fiddle,

Smile and dribble, fiddle.

Oft repeated martyrdom

And open hearted sacrifice,

And record the time passing,

As it happens.

Slipping away –

(Oops it just slipped away!)

Crash in the pan, spew over it, carrots and coriander,

On a roll – me over

On a roll – me over

Me over.

Here and Now (part 1)

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

Dear Oscar,

I thought I would treat you to something a bit different today – rather self-indulgent, I know, but I also know that you will be interested and that you will be fair in your reception. It is the first part of a poem, to be printed in full over the next five days. Enjoy, dear,

Algernon B. Duffoure.

It is called:

HERE AND NOW

1.

Gonna be with you in the here and now

Make a there and then of the here and now

Gonna erase all the where and how.

Memory making of me someone I’m not gonna be.

Could catch such thrills recuperating and my bland recovery

Called living again – live it over again

(If I could have my life all over again)

Waiting for life to be all over again.

Then and there – such formulations to bring me here,

We, here with now, our moment to make here and now.

My words to hack out the space for you to look back upon,

A still and paged representation,

Like gross fear to me, and sheer perfection to you.

Sublimate awesome desire, and do not look

To the brow of the hill

To the side of the stage for the main bit player to enter.

Charting moments like footsteps,

Longing for unification,

My bliss ascending,

I could fly.

I see from wombic caverns light slitted and valleys and no reflection,

But only to sense in odour and ordure your slipped presence sitting in a tree with me.

Now focus, not blackness.

Now sights, not still beatings, and your erupted quiverings.

Just flesh going in the pot,

Living it, living it over again,

Deep collectivity writ large.

Hands to hold and branched embrace,

Read out, voice loud, and gather in gently

(Trust being given to me)

My spoken attempt at poetry.

Crook finger, stare eye

That I lose form and am right here in the here and now.

Words which are told to be passive, and shut in books, and put away, with no living moment,

Gone as they hit the page,

Indelible not to mites and dust, and shattered with meaning –

Baubles picked out from babble.

Please give me peace and quiet that I may disrupt and pacify.

Please let my moments brush up against yours.

Still life to remember.

I suppose you think you will catch me sleeping, but I know you will only ever catch me dead.

Join hands and sing to Jesus,

Lose sight in a happy home,

Draw curtains tight and miss the spotlit action,

The mistake of letting it all keep happening,

Keep on happening,

Behind the densenesses of ill fortified doors.

Your chinks glow in the dark.

And why should I be known at all?

Making of moments my precious moments, so few and far between,

Like a banquet at the side of a desert.

Push me, pull me, knock me into shape.

Treat me like a blank page,

Or an empty canvas,

Or a lost narrative.

Spit your wanderings into mine.

So cold I could cry, my metaphor mirroring me.

Never any pressure to finalise

Only a round full stop,

Blip on the machine,

And goodnight ladies, the gentlemen won’t take you home.

Ground rules have been laid, and I can only acquiesce.

You could break a bough thinking sap would spurt,

And the bough would wither away.

Don’t you think I’m gonna be o.k?

I need to be drowned in your suffering

For mine is exactly the same.

It is only a limited masterpiece

And the option is there to hate it.

Personally my love knows no bounds

And I can tolerate any interruption.

Might as well be glad to be here,

Might as well want now.

Your loss in your paid for seat, and your self protective policies,

Dark ships notching up voyages once over and always done with.

Not the way we’re thinking nowadays

(Don’t even want to know).

I could die in the seated position as I die when I’m lying down.

Gonna go home and tuck in my bed,

Back to the swamp that they bred me in,

Consent to the word and the meaning, and the meaning is suddenly clear,

Or thick swaddling clothes bunged up to mine alone.

Not a choice, but a necessity.

Not a voice, but a relativity.

Well you’ve made your cheap investment and the crock of gold’s in sight –

Do I have to point it out to you?

Or will a smile surrender?

Only one movement here, but a thousand mumblings.

Only one quick change, one fleeting glimpse, but a thousand mutterings.

Invade my space, it is not mine –

You are privy to the merest portion.

Could have caught me musing on a massive madeleine,

Could have caught my cleverness clip my own desire,

Can’t say, won’t say.

Too many myths to demystify.

Too much calm and sugary silken balm to unwind and fracture and blister bare and make our common dog.

Too much and over the hill,

Grass being grass burnt stubble kneeing silks and dreamtime.

Dredging depths clear, pure,

Gonna be just simply here, now.

Call it the cop out if you wish,

I’ll call it the weary way home.

Call it the end (if the end is your goal)

I’ll call it lights and action,

I’ll call it again, at the stage door,

Just a space that was there and then.

Anytime, anyplace, anyone.

Always the same feeling

(Deep inside).

Uncover, slip back covers –

Oh revelation!

Pretense of interaction singularly kept!

My way,

I resurface,

Small vision,

No language, (necessary)

No language, (available)

Always lost,

Bits and pieces,

Shreds and ribbons, (bloody caught between teeth).

The foulness of acrid taste, chewed over, don’t want to know

(More important concerns).

More important lose your ways to blind out, simplify, see afresh,

Represent in dull form, flat form,

Two dimensions battening down a maelstrom,

Ironing out feeling,

And dreams in dream-time.

The Wait

/ Michael Michael / Leave a comment

Dear Oscar,

We’re you always waiting for Bosie? And all the others?
It seems to be the prerogative of youth to keep the older and the more learned waiting for them to deign to find the time to make a call, meet an assignation, keep a date.

Of course I was just like them myself when youth was on my side, but now, alas, I must be the one who does the waiting and has to practice patience and must be understanding and accommodating. I wonder if such attributes do come with age, or if they are forced upon us by the emergence of a circumstance which makes of us dependent. I could of course just get on with my own life, but the hankering for the presence of youthfulness, the magic the young bring with them keeps me hooked like an addict!

Take care, Oscar dear,

Your friend and ally,

Algernon B. Duffoure.