Saturday, 12 April 2025

The Last extemporisation....

 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.