names
hanging in nooses
and
faces
all shot to hell
damn your flag.
damn damn damn
your flag.
damn your flag
under a tree
under a tree at midnight
we watch the pedestrian lights
chatter madly to themselves
it is autumn now
and dawn is farther away
than it used to be
o wind
if autumn comes
can winter be far behind?
dear john
fire on the mountain
run boys run
fire on the mountain
run boys run
it smells
like kerosene
a little singed
around the edges
but tinged with exhiliration
and seasoned with a healthy dose
of sea salt.
who was to know, then
of dear john?
or maybe we did;
and maybe
in this fire-play
(and in his water-play)
we briefly stand
before the darkness
that makes memories of us all;
dear john.
fire on the mountain
run boys run
fire on the mountain
run boys run
RIP John. I will always remember you as the person who taught me to canter. And always thankful.
a recipie
Ingredients
3 small stuffed toys, preferably from McDonald's, but Disney will do
1 noose, pre-prepared
1 sachet of ketchup, from any fast food joint
1 knife, sharp
1 pre-dawn darkness, with streetlight attachment to work by
Method
Prepare the noose beforehand. Hang each toy by the neck till dead, 15 minutes, or till you get bored whichever is sooner. Bring the body down from the noose,
and lay down on chosen workspace. Find the main stitch (usually the back or the belly) and proceed to cut open. start with the back/belly, open up the legs, then end with the head/jaw. Appropriately add ketchup (or not) as desired. Remove stuffing and keep aside. Repeat for all the three. Mix in remaining ketchup with skin or stuffing, according to taste. Sell the results on eBay/trademe, as preferred. Donate all money raised to Ronald McDonald House Charities or the Walt Disney Company Foundation.
Why did I do this? (Pick one)
a. To highlight the hypocritical bloodthirst of a civilisation that eats meat but shrinks from knowing how and where that meat comes from
b. To resist a worldview swamped by the cute and purveyors of the cute
c. As a pathetic attempt at registering some sort of pseudo-symbolic protest against how corporations such as McDonalds and Disney are taking over this planet, particularly our food and our imagination
d. Because I am a really twisted bastard
e. As a cheap stunt to increase my blog hits
f. All of the above
g. None of the above
for the cicadas
what then, are the sounds
of this city?
is it the gentle tap-tap-tap of a million keyboards
(writing shakespeare, no doubt)
or the deep bass rumble of the chimneys
in a thousand asian takeaways?
maybe the laughter that stumbles drunkenly out of the cafés
to swing, stagger and CRASH!
at our (suitably) jandal-ed feet
or the plainitive wail of a car alarm
being industriously ignored?
what then, are the sounds
of this city?
for the cicadas, at least here,
are dead.
[with thanks to taonga puoro, by brian flintoff]
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