someone else's life

there are days i don't even
know how much
of my time
i spend
on my
own 
life
what an odd concept
that you could be spending your life on someone else
yet here we are

and as with all things
the more i think about it
the less i am sure
as my mind's eye passes the parallax
and then refocuses 

on my suicidal friend
for whom i gave so much
desperately trying to undo the knots of trauma
only to see it all burn

but that was nothing
when i think of the hours, days, weeks, years
decades?
i spend crucifixed to the screen
at the behest of an invisible man
for whom i have no love whatsoever
and whose name i don't even know

so ask yourself
make a habit of it
make a mantra of it
ask yourself
what are you doing with your life?
and who are you doing it for?

Milk and Honey

yeah, i think Rupi Kaur is overrated too, but i also feel the need to vehemently defend her poetry. let me explain, in "poem" form (quotation marks for the purists).

why
is it a problem
for Rupi Kaur
to write
like this,
but when Bukowski
does it
it's fine?

people say...
it's not poetry, it's not big, it's not clever
people say...
some poems are beautiful but mostly it's just meh
which is exactly how millions of people feel
about all poetry

and then they open
Milk and Honey
and it immediately speaks 

to them
sometimes yelling
sometimes whispering
right out of the page
which is what poetry is meant to do

for better and for worse
it is instantly accessible
you can devour it in minutes
it is easily digestible
high on the GI index
like mashed potato or plain rice
which is sometimes all you can eat
after you've been starved of nourishment

this isn't raw carrots and whole grains
for those who have had a balanced diet
all their lives
it is of its time, like all poetry

for some
it is a warm and simple broth
the first taste of words that feel good
...so stop trying to take it away from them

fog and harvest moon (01-10-20)

Last night, as I went for a run in the fields, a low ground-fog settled, giving a ghostly glow to the grass: mystical and haunting. Only as I slowly turned back on myself, in the first U of a loop, did I see the orange moon, large and low, percolating through veils of suspended condensation. I slowed to a shuffling jog as I observed these two unusual characters as if I'd chanced on them fraternising; stumbled into their private meeting and must now proceed with caution. My feet trotted on as my face stayed fixed; immobilised by these phenomenal creatures. My heart wanted to stay to capture the moment, perhaps go back home and fetch the camera, but another voice said "you don't have the time". 

I can't remember the last time I was so struck by the beauty of the natural sight, arranged by happen-chance and the movement of the terrestrial world, particularly now I don't travel anymore or spend minutes looking at petals or the movement of worms, instead stuck at my desk, in the confines of the built environment, working for someone else. I had to move on. How I now wish I had ignored that idiotic, galling, parasitic time-keeper. Because that moment will never happen again

face to face

it's like good sex
the palindromic almost-symmetry
of smiling eye to eye

first the nascent curl of the lip
the uncontrollable elevating flesh
like a teasing spark
in the dark
like a charge that gives movement
to static muscle
now electric with confidence
through the nerve to allow it

we see it in each other
lighting bulbs in the brain
contagious, like a sneeze
growing inside like thunder
then throbbing abandon
the eyes squint in ecstasy
a ratcheting, ratcheting
positive feedback loop of affirmation

a mutual mirror
our mad mouths mimic
the amnesty of our ancestors
with our pre-linguistic worth
exposing the enamel
of our ancient weapons
as a gesture of peace
and happy reconciliation

yes, we say to each other, yes
it's safe to let go
a neuronal door opens
and we walk through it

a note on the human condition

With reference to Ernest Becker

it's not just denial of death
it's living with contradiction in general
our grappling with the human condition
the hypocrisy of humanity
the contradiction between idealised behaviour and evil
between fantasy and reality
the lies and meaninglessness
the having to go on in denial of it all

work and reward

why do i feel like im being punished
even as i'm being rewarded?

i spent so much of my life avoiding work
and developing my own schema,
my own guiding star

and i developed unique outlooks,
skills and perspective,
translatable and employable,
such that now people offer me good jobs

it's a curse.
whatever you succeed at
you'll be offered more work

Berlin 2011

i woke up alone this morning

in someone else's car 
a smart car
i must have climbed in through the open window

to escape the pouring rain

i don't remember the rain

because i don't remember anything

but the detective in me is at work

this wasn't just a hangover from hell

this was hell

manifesting between my ears in real time

woke without shoes
and a pakistani passport in my pocket
€30 in one-euro coins
(sloshing) with no tshirt
but a velvet jacket

it's like i had become someone else

i finally made it home

Too Black, Too Strong

"America is fortunate that black people only want equality and not revenge" - Busta Rhymes (probably apocryphal)

i think i got Benjamin Zephaniah's Too Black Too Strong back when i was about 15. i read it a bit at the time, but there was a lot of rhyming poetry which turned me off, although i had enjoyed Face when i was about 11, because it felt real and probably because it had some swearing in it. Zephaniah was basically a mascot for Birmingham creativity; a local, working class hero. Also he was/is just the nicest dude. I just re-read Too Black Too Strong and unfortunately the words were more relevant now than they were then. One example:

What Stephen Lawrence Has Taught Us

We know who the killers are,
We have watched them strut before us
As proud as sick Mussolinis’,
We have watched them strut before us
Compassionless and arrogant,
They paraded before us,
Like angels of death
Protected by the law.

It is now an open secret
Black people do not have
Chips on their shoulders,
They just have injustice on their backs
And justice on their minds,

And now we know that the road to liberty

Is as long as the road from slavery.

The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us to love each other
And never to take the tedious task
Of waiting for a bus for granted.
Watching his parents watching the cover-up
Begs the question
What are the trading standards here?
Why are we paying for a police force
That will not work for us?
The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us
That we cannot let the illusion of freedom
Endow us with a false sense of security as we walk the streets,
The whole world can now watch
The academics and the super cops
Struggling to define institutionalised racism
As we continue to die in custody
As we continue emptying our pockets on the pavements,
And we continue to ask ourselves
Why is it so official
That black people are so often killed
Without killers?
We are not talking about war or revenge
We are not talking about hypothetics or possibilities,
We are talking about where we are now
We are talking about how we live now
In dis state
Under dis flag, (God Save the Queen),
And God save all those black children who want to grow up
And God save all the brothers and sisters
Who like raving,
Because the death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us that racism is easy when
You have friends in high places.
And friends in high places
Have no use whatsoever
When they are not your friends.
Dear Mr Condon,
Pop out of Teletubby land,
And visit reality,
Come to an honest place
And get some advice from your neighbours,
Be enlightened by our community,
Neglect your well-paid ignorance
Because
We know who the killers are.

Travis (21-10-1995 – 16-02-2009)

https://nymag.com/news/features/70830/

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/11686234/horror-injuries-woman-face-hands-ripped-pet-chimp/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Travis_(chimpanzee)

Travis was a face-tearing chimp

He literally tore a woman's face off
    Don't fuck with Travis

Travis was a hard motherfucker
It wasn't even his first attack
    Once he leapt from a car to fight a guy for throwing a soda can at him

Travis was a celebrity
He advertised for pepsi - he was on TV
    He even did a pilot show with Sheryl Crow

Travis was pumped up on anti-Lyme disease drugs
He wasn't sticking to his diet regime, eating junk food and getting depressed

    It was a homicidal disaster waiting to happen

Travis was an ape in a world made for humans

That was his disability; that was his fate

    He was a messed up kid. Probably all he wanted was a pepsi

Travis got blown away by cops after he was done face-tearing
Travis went for the po po

    Travis' so-called owner is a fucking idiot for getting involved in shit like this

Don't blame Travis

cliff

caught in an inflaming gust

the blustering luft 

that weathers the brow 

crossed
and double crossed
my unborn face

caught in the browning
signs of mud, sand and stone
the open room wettenned
in sheer moments, dropped
with the moan of liquid
sphere-by-sphere
a tidal groan

in the ashen clash 

of vital solvent

staring at the edge 

and the hole it punctuates

with an umbilical gaze

i found myself
transfixed
by what we leave
when we leave

George

It's my face man I didn't do nothing serious man please please please I can't breathe please man please somebody please man I can't breathe I can't breathe please (inaudible) man can't breathe, my face just get up I can't breathe, please, a knee on my neck I can't breathe shit I will I can't move mama mama I can't my knee my neck I'm through I'm through I'm claustrophobic my stomach hurt my neck hurts everything hurts some water or something please please I can't breathe officer don't kill me they're gonna kill me, man come on man I cannot breathe I cannot breathe they're gonna kill me they're gonna kill me I can't breathe I can't breathe please sir please please please I can't breathe

Reflect

As per usual, most
have hastened
to stuff the opportune void
with cloying telefragrances
and fretting gossip
until the eternal cosmic skydaddy
(or if push comes to shove, the most powerful kid in the playground)
declares
a return to normality
like a deflated mirror
of take back control.

...but aside from them -
and privileged bums
like you and me
who are so low
on the rungs
of responsibility
that we barely notice
a change in the weather
- the lone businesses, the freelancers and artisans,
are sitting
out there
right now,
plotting the next move,
thinking about where their world is going.

Now we hear the groan of tectonic paving slabs.
Tomorrow magmatic concrete?

the doubtless

to be read out

who the fuck are you?
who, the fuck, are YOU?
who the FUCK are you?
WHO the fuck are you?
WHO the fuck are you?
who the fuck are you?
who. the. fuck. are. you?

shame on you.

Cover, Fire (couvre-feu) 24.03.20

    Vector
Human tampering
Of winged beasts
Driven out of the zoonotic sphere
Like an exorcism

Peripatetic macromolecule, now
Hitchhiking parasite
Becoming omnipresent

    War
Fatty envelope enclosing alien bioweaponry
Enters, trojan-like, with a lipid kiss of endocytic pressure
An invisible incendiary chain letter
A disease-coded cluster bomb

Unconscionable nano-automatons, now
At war with kamikaze leukocytes
That killer instinct

    Quarantine
No man is an island
So we must now make moats
Of our surroundings
To contain the contagious outrage

Putting space between us, now
A reassessment of our contingent worlds
Private, public, physical, virtual

    Offering
Pass through, past
Me, and my family
Could try goat's blood
Marks on my door

Make a sacrifice, now
A spell or prayer
Bless you

Suicide

If you're a man under 50 the person most likely to kill you is yourself

roughly a million people top themselves every year
that's a lot of people
imagine them all jumping off the same roof
at the same time
imagine a whole city
turned to ghosts overnight
imagine ten self-inflicted Dresdens
every year
imagine the aftermath
imagine the cleanup operation

except we shouldn't have to imagine
because it happens all the time
but it's hidden
it's quiet
because no one wants to talk
about our own worst enemy

Katagelastic

i am sorry
for all
the times i have sniggered
and made you feel
small

like
when i introduced you
to the right-click in Windows
and
when you pronounced quinoa
to rhyme with Minoa
and i laughed
in your face

there are hundreds
of other examples
but no one likes a poem that goes on

when it doesn't need to

so
simply
i'm sorry

Name

for Rita

i'm not sad
because she died.
i'm not even sad
she died choking
on her own phlegm.
i'm sad
she died
not knowing
who she was,
not knowing
her own name.

Metal Detector

just to put it out there, tracing your family history on an ancestry website is, more often than not, a confused ego project. we are all related, literally. the distinctions between so-called families are arbitrary categorisations made for political, social and patriarchal reasons, perpetuated by habit and tradition. in fact, you are, in the most literal sense, related to every living thing on earth: apes, fish, insects, bananas, trees, mushrooms, bacteria etc. your great great great x 10⁵ grandmother/father, a direct line of parentage, was an ape at a time when humans didn't exist. if you went back far enough your mom's mom's mom's (etc) would be some form of worm. this is not hyperbole.

the confusion of these website is in artificially selecting one lineage out of many and elevating it to "your" ancestry, when actually it is everyone's ancestry. by the time you're going back 20 generations, you have roughly 2,000,000 direct parental relatives, so that's not including uncles, cousins etc (its actually much lower due to varying degrees of inbreeding, but that's a whole other story. as an illustration the figure of 2 million will do). that's only tracing back roughly 500 years to the Tudors. and from those millions of direct relatives, the ancestry website picks up on a few of them for whom there exists a record, and makes you feel like you're related to royalty or some person of note, which, as pointed out, we inevitably all are. of course the history of the countless poor and faceless peoples you are related to 20 generations back is unrecorded and "blind" to ones view. in any case, what is left to us (in fragments, fossils and public record) is a strange and corrupted lens.

then there's also the issue of these companies storing your genetic soul and selling it on to third parties so that in years to come you can't get life or medical insurance when the NHS has been fully privatised and god knows what else. mostly it's about building up huge databases of information whose value they know has not yet come to fruition, probably by many orders of magnitude. 

Glide over the superficial
And the apparatus might squeal with delight

You never know

Might find more than you bargained for
Skeletons and keys

Might

Open a truth

Might

Make a rich story out of scraps

Looking for booty
Or a filthy crest
On all fours
I see a man
Tugging at roots

At the helical dendrites of subterranean heritage

And hoping for rushing gold

To understand, you must kneel
Before the gods of clay
What do they say?

Mostly mud
In the vein of ore
By the line of blood
Mine, dirty

So mind your step

As skulls are mined

Exploding fragments of history 

Into a colourful tapestry

So proceed with caution and

Think of the children!
The questions, hard
Stone, even
Petrified by the thought
Of facing family's history

Sift through the dirt