[ssf] dda v) and vi)
adam
adam at diamat.org.uk
Fri Jul 10 15:39:10 BST 2009
v) all my colours
space
the sixties
grey pictures of blast-offs
filmed from ground control
then, curved images of the world below
weather systems swirling
continents discernible, photos
beamed from above
showing no gaps
no bits now left in the maps
with legend:
'this where dragons be'
the globe
some say still 'the earth is flat'
er, not *flat* as in *deflated*
or some *no longer fizzy* analogy
but *flat* as in
one could fall from it's edges
but the sixties cured most of that
the earth-is-flat business
globally, with pretty pictures
as the mad standoff did also
at the start of that decade
focus tout le monde's attention
very acutely, to the flip side
of rocket technology
dr strange love
definitely phallic
no doubt overlapping designers
but these bad boys
are the real mccoy
carrying a critical mass
of a very dense substance
and aimed, not in to space
this time round, but set to describe
relatively shallow parabolas
between two points on, or close to
the earth's delicate surface
two states though, going to war
shaking their bits at each other
telling each other stories
'hey man, mine's more potent
then yours man
when mine blows jo
it will knock you in to
a new tomorrow ...'
well, allegedly, the celts
used to moon their bare arses
it's all mad, init
anthropo logically speaking
little world,
little world
some folk you know
are quite able to, live on this earth
and yet abstract themselves
in their minds at least
somewhere *up above* in metaphor
or *down below* in particular
and then pass remarks
about how the surface appears
from their inverse squared
perspective
but i suppose
one could give hope to the idea
that, if one has never been
outside one's head and *looking in*
so to say, how can one
ever be sure, whether
one is inside or
contrawise, outside
one's mind, at any given time
mindst ye, it's a shame really init
we have the technology to reach
escape velocity, but if we add to it
this nuclear point
with sticky back plastic
and val's old knicker elastic
then viola, we have a method
of killing a greater percentage
of the world's population
than even cain managed to do
and i don't mean kwai chang
man, when will we ever learn
can you imagine, some one really
up above, looking in
hollywood does it, all the time
dreams up these characters
occasionally we battle them
like in *independence day*
we use the bad boys in that film
an whole airforce of big ugly
mother fucking aliens
intend to harvest the earth, us
and action -- we all pull together,
fine speeches given,
then we duke nuke em,
big cheers, kissing
nuclear families, cut,
the end, credits,
kerr'ching
now, i could perhaps accept
the argument that, given the circumstances
depicted, in this particular flick
it may prove handy, to hold
some atomic tricks, but
why an extra-terrestrial
predatory force, would have waited until now
to have their wicked way with us
given, we had little more
than bows and arrows
just a short while ago
to defend our nearest and dearest
i don't know, what's the story, rory --
coincidence, or was it just their game
predators, the big external bogie man
arnie blackblack battles them too
in the juggles, no, not in real live
i mean, in the past, in the action movies
cut, kerr'ching
before he did a ronnie raygun
and eurika, got some shout
in the golden state
some universities offer courses
these days, about how film
depicts successive close encounters
and attempt to correlate, the changing shape
of the alien depicted, with the moving state
of the american psyche, in respect
to that psyche's changing hopes and fears
but i don't know, *psyche*
it sounds a bit posh, doesn't it
i mean, at one level of abstraction
if one can't eat, paint or move a *thing*
in a wheelbarrow, then does that *thing* exist
and it does makes the films appear
to be somehow cultured, like
'ooh ...
it's psychological init
with a sociological edge,
very educational'
well, mebe
but if there's psychology
and sociology over there
then one might say
there's a fair amount
of fuckology coming
from that direction also
invented interventions, from above
uniting a race, if a race we are
could we not slow down a bit
until we know where, we're running to
i suppose, it's the money
that keeps us all running honey
take the south shields marathon
nice folk, no doubt loads of them
internally motivated to demonstrate
what is achievable as an amateur
but many raising cash in small change
for single issue purposes, many of these issues
systemic failings of the present way of being
pennies from the poor to the poorer still
we give and we give and we give
i used to give some thought
to running a marathon, lots actually
laid up, with my legs smashed to fuck
i used to think, i will somehow
extract a silver lining
from this massive cloud
that has descended upon me
i will get better, and one day stand
and then walk, and then run again
and i will take part in that race ...
... but who i am kidding
i used to hide on cross-country
when i was kid, whenever the teachers
weren't looking ...
... but it's not the winning, is it
and i can walk between
every second lamppost
to begin with ...
so i convinced myself
for a good few months
before other self doggings kicked in
that i build myself up
to do a marathon
just being able to run one
would be an achievement
but not for any real cause
or rather, no cause really
other than me trying to prove something
to myself
i don't know
i never got that far
i mean, i can run, but i've never
ran a marathon, so i never
got to that stage
where some kind sole might enquire:
are you doing it for some good cause
would you like to be sponsored ...
vi) the world blank
forget for a bit about some one
or some thing *being there*
*up above*, *looking in*
so to speak, and imagine now
some one on, or near to
this planet's bedraggled surface
i met one once, who said to this me
'there's only two kinds of work:
moving relatively small bits of matter
on, or near to the earth's surface
and, getting some one else to move
relatively small bits of matter
on, or near to the earth's surface'
i've met others
who have split work up
in to different categories
*paid* and *unpaid*
for example:
if paid, then one does the work
on a contractual understanding
that at a known time, one will receive
in return, small bits of matter,
with numbers on them ...
coins and folding money
... or at least
be stimulated in to believing somehow
that a certain number
in an electronic account
will increase by a set amount
and, secondly, we have
the ever so undefined
and ever so much greater, with respect to
human calorie consumption
sub category, of unpaid work
whither that work is the joyous
and sometimes mind numbingly pecking chores
of parenthood, or for that matter
what is viewed by many
to be of some greater charitable purpose
like, i don't know
take your pick
there's loads out there
many noble causes
with logos, p r
web sites and manifestos
i've read a few, and i think
some have a point
take the british national party
but not as a charity
but used repetitively,
in new labour publicity
as the evil alternative,
the fascist kid brother
so to speak, of the untamed
*british psyche*
just waiting around the corner
ready to pounce, on the ever so pleasant
status quo, so don't
vote for them
i don't know, it's a joke isn't it
the british clockwork,
yet anachronistic
eggy weggy pantomime
but at the same time
i recognise, that lots of nice folk,
much nicer than me probably
are put in fear
whither it's real or imagined
by these blipverts
and are lead to
a crude and temporary alternative
but most people in britain
voted with their feet
so to speak, that is
stayed well away
from the booths
and did other
perhaps more useful stuff
instead
boot, the daily scoop
and feet are made for walking
however, it just may take
more than some home grown
fear generation x factor
to get folk these days
to suspend their disbelieve
and go pole charitably,
placing an x tidily,
in any box associated
with the present ruling shower
well, sugar
i guess reordering is imperative --
'as a group, we are not as strong
as our weakest link, goodbye
we will reform, throw away
the shackles of yesteryear
and we will reconstitute,
yet maintain the core values
that we all hold so dear ...'
what fucking *core values*
there's never been a golden age
myths, and spin doctors
politician's, story tellers
the lot of them:
words, sometime's make me cross
dunt get me wrong
i'm pretty sure
it's not a phobic response
for, individually
when presented with any one of them
i tend to remain very calm
or even if lot's of them come together
in strings of intelligible
if fractured at times,
communication
but core-values, well please
please release me, i don't know
*words*, may be it is all behavioural
oh, that reminds me, drainage
i have a plan, i started writing it
about fifteen years ago,
in my head at least, the plot so to speak
but plot, who am i kidding
any one who knows me, will testify
i have very little, if any
sense of direction
nevertheless, i was not confused
to where i was in the book
i contemplated ...
'i am in the *here and now*'
.... it was to be a contemporary work
and i broadly knew
where i was wanting to get
chronologically, with the world
well most of it
by two thousand and ten
i thought, we will have
a world of peace
when money is not used
other than in, the *reservations*
the *reservations*, here i pictured
a kind of theme park almost,
where people from all over
this planet, had congregated
in dribs and drabs
folk, who for whatever reason
wanted to continue
with the degradations
when nebulous, these conclaves
were watched closely
if only because, concerns were expressed
about some of the folk, there gathered:
people with *known-form*
but over time, and amongst the upheaval
of it all, where many parts of world
could perhaps have been said to be
equally as drib drabby, in the real
and somewhat hop scotchity metropolitan
outpourings, little serious attention
chat and debate, had been given to
the remaining reservations, as indeed
they were little more, than reservation in name
some of these groupings, had developed
almost quite naturally, in to environments
of therapeutic role play, for instance
in the months that immediately followed consensus
prior to entry, at one reservation
no longer now existent, contestants were required
to feed what ever paper money,
they had managed to gather together
nervously in to a self service machine
which *normalised* their apparent wealth
some currencies held their value, sure
longer than others, durability of texture
or sentimentality of the players, who knows
but, over a relatively short period of time
one could see, from the decreasing
and faintly florescent new whole number
which the machines stamped crudely
upon the old notes, before returning them
to the would be players
that, normalisation was tending
quickly towards zero, in an apparent
linear and quantum manner
outside the reservations, money
took on a more charitable edge
in those same few months
a special print run
was undertaken, at the
bank of england presses
which switching back
briefly for the day
from wall paper production
where set yet again, with the plates
the negatives, of the notes circulating
immediately prior to consensus, except now
when printed, in certain lights
appeared the image of a child
beside elisabeth, and the paper once dry
was cut, stacked and packed
in monopoly maundy sets
before being distributed to the kids
in the hope, that by playing the game
they'd improve their mental arithmetic
and learn something about the nature
of a prior history
the child's form, somewhat hidden
on the notes themselves, placed boldly
central, on the box-fronts
stern in stance, wrapped in a dark
union jack, yet the face exposed now
and recognisable by many:
it's stewie griffin
off of family guy,
-- you are now cured --
was printed as a strap line
but the above, and the many other examples
you will find in this period
of transitory artifact, can be considered
as no more, than the fading echos
of defence memes prevalent
through out that first decade
by two thousand and seventeen,
-- where i contemplated beginning the tale --
many memes dominant in the bizarro world
of the naughties, had
like money itself, fallen out of use
and in deed, many folk took their children
to visit, the tamer reservations
some from nostalgia, no doubt
and a few were said to have
used the occasion to deliver a kinda ...
'you don't realise
how lucky you've got it
you kids, these day'
... yorkshire man
living in a cardboard box
type sketch
but the kids themselves, knew by then
if not hardship, at least a couple of
lean mean winter, and some i hear
didn't make the comparison out loud
that being said, some seven odd years
post the first consensus
as the world
or rather the human part of it
which had agreed and acted out its remit
what, for some, had felt like little more
than blind faith, initially
sempt to be now
a simple, and blindingly obvious truth ...
azadeh, a main character of the story
is considering this change in perspective
she is at home, and she thinks she
vaguely kops it, she sits down
folds her hands over her lap,
and says
'but why then all the rumours'
a big maine coon cat
that sometimes answered to the name marcel
and always to the smell of food
if only to turn his nose up in disdain
lifted one heavy eye lid
at the sound of aza's voice
and made that short two pitch
squeaky sound in response
that azadeh took to mean:
'you half woke me then
and nothing's moved
except you, since i went to sleep
and you're ok, except you're noisy
so unless you maintain a modicum
of silence, i will turn my nose up
at you too, and go crash
somewhere else instead'
'rumours'
-- repeats azadeh to the cat --
'there's going to be
quite a lot noise around here soon
in any case marcel, so you'd better start
getting used to it'
by rumours, she's referring to stories
that have began to circulate
in the early months of seventeen
certain of the talking heads
of the past decades, have not only
avoided any amends work
which alone, invalidates the terms
of their amnesty, but they are also
actively planning a make or break
world retake, and have access to secret
hidden devices
speculation grew like wild fire
half remembered tales
started appearing, calling for
a reformation of the courts ...
azadeh giggles
when she hears the call for reformation
'nostalgia'
she thinks, she has a pretty blissful
existence these days
but it wasn't instant, as it was
with many, for example
whilst most us had spent
the days of the courts spell bound
by their significance, and shocked
at many levels, by the stark reality
laid out, for all to witness ...
'this is consensus
we're just here to spell out the problems
clearly, and any answers we have
are second hand clearly ...'
... began the transmission
azadeh, sat transfixed, anxious
she knew, it could still go wrong
even now, at the very start
she was aware of the set up,
the introductory speeches
by the usual suspects, those there
for the press to photograph smiling
and looking stern when appropriate
if called upon to do so
at events, if not as globally important
as the one unfolding, certainly ones
advertised in the build up
as being of the uppermost relevance, but
they'd said their peace, and sat down quietly
god bless them, as did some leaders
who could claim, in many cases
a greater, and more recent estimation
of political confidence
but then again, they had darker skin,
and spoke with a strong indo-european accent
in public, which a few of the other leaders
until recently, had been unable
or unwilling to translate
and they sat down too, allah be praised
and let the earth scientists
delivery their analysis
from top to bottom
melting ice caps and all that
much of it known and already accepted
if only somewhat recently by many corporate
and state leaders, after what had seemed
like a long period of short termed thinking
and selfishly motivated denial
azadeh pushed the red button
on the remote to a free view box
and saw the representatives
sat still, in the lecture theatre
wearing ear phones, listening to a narration
in an accent they understood
she, switched to chinese
a language she didn't understand at all
at that point in her life, but one
she like to listen to, because she thought
it sounded so sing-songy, and smiley
with it's open, and extended diphthongs
she got up, went out the rear
of where she was lodging back then
and looked out
towards the quiet horizon
she remembered the attenborough broadcast
at the turn of the century
and where she was visiting then
with a yucky tummy flue
that left her dazed and running late
to a celebration in that town
it was strange, she thought at first
everyone she passed, looked at her
as though in recognition
she was in a hurry
nodded and walked briskly on
then, as she slowed down
she heard their good wishes
and phased in to the celebratory period
'oh, best of luck
for the new millennium
to you too'
-- she echoed back
to total strangers --
but what was weird
was that she had felt they meant it
she'd looked them
clean in the eye's, when they spoke
as indeed, they'd looked in hers
heads were up, that night
'dithery old drunken fools ...'
-- she said out loud, and then --
'... eat, eat'
her mind wonders again,
this time to a pair of socks
she used to wear, and she stopped
went back in, grabbed a sandwich
and turned down the box
she's fretting again,
'it could all go wrong
you know this'
she secretly squeezed a golf ball
in her hoodie pocket
as she recalled the media handling
of an event in two thousand and one
and where heads had gone, that day ...
More information about the ssf
mailing list