not very good first draft splatterisation
of
It's all the same:
In my imagination
Based on simple old school rules and regulation
" dad so wort's one of these 'real wimmin' you bullshit
verbally diarrhealisation want us to know about?"
" well... near twenty years ago - though i havent ever had much time - since poor man Angel of Death
runaway from his own brood
cloaked the previously ok post separation in his rood
screen - the borderline between him and reality
to just slightly pinch of the useless lost-it Bard..
not much time to really intellectually explore the sidealley of even
the orignal blueprint for journey
nice 'bird' - powerful daddy i didnt know til i just looked er up
her daddy was also called Nemesis....
well Ive met a few of them...
had a fancy gaff...
there was a ten year war if i do recall
and bloke who survived i think he won i cant remember
battles and wars all the same old rumpus for scarce resources just like the latterday
non entity
of Tin Pot Tin Pan Alley on polluted sea
(immos from London and the like, they called the Helford River Rats it was decreed)
anyway took the Odd man ten years of 'journeying' back to
well she may have kept her knees closed ones actual sexual activity
is between her and me...
so i dont really even know if a twenty year timespan is a proper Homeric measurement of start to finish of fantastic allegory
of universal 'story'...
except a quick scan i sort of worship that false deity
just as working title; were entitled to nuthin'
especially knowin' ANY metafizzy maybe-reality
all the same cant and vanity
so think of it merely as a silly notion working potion
for who knows what
except i know one thing.
Twenty years ago almost to the week
There is was second visit to Essouaria out of surfie twat season
This time no you, just me ... looking for reason
In fact thats a lie as there is only ever one reason, you.
No time to 'process' - their trendy word for those with dilettante timefree
Me .. actually one off lawfare
ill and exhausted
A cheap April airfare
off a few weeks to try and burn the six months of chronicbuggy earache
out my poor racked and ruined thick head
recharge just a bit
So, wandering that square .. too chronc to feel lonely
Along comes this 'bird' about the only whittey i could see
Her arm in a sling .. her swagger just a bit hurt in fact
SO .. i managed to grab her with some cheeky tract
Hay-on-Wye, Cornish sewer... all you hear is Gaul or rather
"gaelic roots were tough ..poetical "
or some similar bullshit for-arts-grants blather
to suggest not quite, anti-theme park heretical
This one, pukka Mademoiselle LE GAL...
Born on coastal Brtittany
Fuckin Asterix rit large in svelte attire
war wounded she explains....
on the run from an Arab man's ire
She told me her progress the last couple of years
the prefect pilgrim to truth and actual shared 'humanity'
' for my dissertation, my country a little Algerian confused, neigh ethnically awry
i decided to research Arab men eye to eye...
generally in their beds... my oohhh my
the the last one though he got the jealousy or was it control freakery hump
my poor broken arm he did bump
against a wall and I'm on the run....
in fear for my life
[later on: no i wont be your perfect fuckin De Beauvoir in a wife,
anyway us Frogs know you lot only turned on up the bum]
So...Cecile... all very well
her stories of living Arabian hell
And we teamed up to roam a bit
found the most perfect place down Hendrix Beach ...
like a tenner a week .. her and I ...
and her actually rather splendid ..
well you gotta sleep with the natives to be allowed to even smell
the pure champagne Riffian 'bud' as i called it 'champagne hit'
yes metoo i weakened just for beoredom
her bleedin racist chastity belt two week a hardon!
(if you must at least do the good stuff i have to say made me realise what they miss out on Gwerk and HAy)
But artificial highs
Angels sighs...
nothing like the real thing
one simply perfect Essouarian evening
there we are ... wanderin' back from our no-town, no-place dusty weeks repose
. there is a show in town
many hundred locals-only stage front
maybe one Guardian journo dared to brave
(within his paid piece ' heaven he would rave')
Had he been there his piece would have jismed
(not in spell check oh well maybe you'll get
the compulsory ecstasy in modern day review
I am here, they are there on high ...TourAG MEN
GODS OF THEIR BONGOS OOPS ACCIDENTAL CAP NO TIME TO THINK
NEVER MIND EDIT RUSHBRIDGER'S STINK
this poem is one simple stream of unthought words
not a moment to blink
i do not lie
it flows like the woes
of the only one REAL WOMAN i had ever met and sadly since
there we were stage front even the locals - ok prob imports from Fez or Marrakesh
starry eyed... one real woman ..only stood arms folded, she winced
and top of her fine pair of lungs:
'c'est un spectacle..'
The nuance and context you may not quite get
Like HAy or Gwerk, oops Tin Pot Al...
its compulsory,
for 'visitors' [never tourists] to, eyes glazed over; mass formation psychosis trumpetry
herald the perfect 'event' compulsorily, and naysaying ULTIMATE heresy
because there just may be a reviewer from The Guardian cowering behind
the speaker systems and locals dancin'
(now to get out of poetical rant that was INTERESTING
I stood and stared long long time at the teenage boys
no girls allowed so boy on boy their thing.,.
i understood and empathised
and saw the darting glances from hemskirt chained girly eyes .)
So yes... Cecile.... stood among the crowd compulsory look at me
in paradise of Touareg godliness
I mean even i saw only the most beautiful of man
up there upon the stage ... playing musac from some ancient tin can
But when My GAl... she stamped her feet
like The Princess with her little pea problem
after the worst ever night's sleep
she spat it.. the perfect intonation
rose above their fake concatenation
I bet there isnt any 'Tuareg nation'
thats for tourists trappin' dickhead dire culture artificialisation
She alone, whom later on would give me her booklist
Bernhard Extinction top ... nests must be upon, PISSED
in other words a real writer says the unpopular truth
even here in superman Tuareg heaven
like bread that is unleavened
nothing there, upon that spotlit stage
the crowds infected with their perfect desrt rhythms
i'm sure the brochure said
this was 'art' that was only DEAD
And the most important word in the English language a sad poor even great writer immo Serb would not understand.
Such hard nuance
Is 'license'... one REAL woman licensed
The truth
no one else dare say and i wouldn't have dared thought or be suspected of thinking
til she footstamped it out loud...
That is my definition of a real woman
And yesterday another... what happens when you meet a rare real woman who says what is against their endless pyroclastic flow of culture-melting endless self aggrandising pond mud
is you feel BIGGER
And a few days later i wrote an email
To the son of the father who help my balls in his tight Indian grip...
endless lawfare ... you silly Angel of Death step
I knew he would show it to his father
Thats why i chose that particular rather vain son....
And i shall get it out for here
later
It's the best REAL MAN thing i ever did....
Because that one REAL WOMAN
challenged me without ever drawing a weapon other than her chastity belt she dangled in front of her three damn weeks
" you can look but you cannot touch even on the champagne giggle juice... peek peek peek.."
she challenged me to be
MORE
than twatomised me
ever could
BE
and it worked.
Period.
