Starry Eyes, Silent Night

 Carol woke relatively early. It was nighttime but she had fallen asleep in the afternoon. The pain in her stomach was hiding for the time being. She thanked the Lord for it. God bless him she said with something like a sparkle in her once starrier eyes which had been diluted somewhat over the times.
  Venus had her little paw on little Buddha's big belly. Her own little belly was bigger than usual, filled with little kittens. Buddha was wearing red fairylights which glowed red over Venus. Buddha was a present from her brother's son, Stanley, an 8 year old boy. His name in English is Sid Arthur but in Indya they call him Buddha he told her when he gave it to her. Smart kid she said to her brother. We think he may be autistic her brother told her. It sometimes works out that way. I hope I don't become one of those crazy cat ladies she said. It sometimes works out that way, she was yet to find any other homes for any of the kittens. What comes first, the cats or the craziness? She'd read somewhere about fleas making people go insane. She didn't need that.
  Nobody was coming over this year. She'd have had a man over, but Mo was dead this year. He knew he would die young and he did die quite young. Mad bastards can often die quite young, just a couple of years or so older than the good. A few months before he died Carol whacked a frying pan over his head in front of her daughter, Joanne, a 12 year old girl. Afterwards, he stood there with a knife held to his heart pleading with one of them to plunge it for about fifteen minutes or so before going to the off licence for another can. Joanne just sat there quietly.
  Joanne had bought her mother a soft toy for Christmas this year. It was a cuddly donkey. The year before she had gotten her a cuddly lamb. The room had plenty of little animals in it now with more to come. Carol had taken to sleeping on the sofa with the animals. Her bed was full of fleas and they weren't very pleasant sleeping companions, all over her all the time, driving her crazy.
  Venus went into labour. OK said Carol. She got off of the sofa. The floor was filthy and her feet were bare. What I like about you is that you don't mind getting your feet dirty a nice ex boyfriend once told her. Venus had now birthed the kittens. Carol picked up the runt of the litter. Her first thought was to name her after someone else but looking at her she named her Carol after herself. A robin dropped by on the windowsill for a moment too brief to really be noticed, quickly flying away before the stray cats scratched at the door, delinquents all 3 of them catcalling female felines and half howling at the moon in a way seeming to be threatening to scratch that silly smile off of its stupid crescent face.
  Merry Christmas Carol said to Carol. I don't care for it too much she added. She then put Carol back with Venus beside little fairylit Buddha's big belly and turned off the lamp on the side table and turned the gas heater on. In the relative darkness of the relative earliness the heater glowed over the room and the kittens became more red.

The Master

You don't make up for your sins in Church, you make up for them in the streets, the rest is bullshit and you know it.

i. The Master

The Master is a shyster. In  some respects he has to be, at least it is what is expected of him. You see, he is the figurehead of some kind of faith but his faithfuls have no time for faith. Because of this he shrouds the faith with a scientific rhetoric much like Freud did with psychology. Therefore, his faith becomes something closer to an outright pack of lies. That is what his faithfuls want and though there may be no actual difference hither to thither between faith and a pack of lies there is a profound shift in intent and a large disparity between what either is worth. The master is being paid to tell a pack of lies, not develop any kind of faith. Nobody actually believes in him, nobody actually likes him. It is safe to say that he doesn't have a friend in the world.
 The master is essentially a phoney medium. It is not the psychic who forges a link to the realm of the dead, if there is such a place, but the client who does so- they just need a shyster with vim and vigour enough to seem half way convinced. Someone that they can kid themselves that they can be certain about. Uncertainty is a large responsibility.
  Now, there is an inherent paradox crucial to belief, that it is a belief, you do not know. Belief regardless of belief, in other words. Faith is a technical term, not a divine one. Fundamentalism is the coward's way out. Yet that is what the master's faithfuls want. It is what he serves them in big steaming piles of appropriations of absolute certainties. He has been plied with money and it has rendered him worthless for he is untrue. Whether or not he believes what he is saying is probably as irrelevant as whether Jesus Christ believed what he was saying. What matters is whether his words have any worth. The master's words have none, and there's a lot of them.

ii. Freddie Quell

Freddie is a lost boy. He starts The Master on a desert island. He builds a naked woman out of sand. At first it is a half joke but later we see him lying earnestly with his sand woman. There's a phrase about building your house on sand or something, a lack of foundation, he is building his relation to humanity on it. It is safe to say that he doesn't have a friend in the world.
  Freddie's major talent is brewing moonshine. He can make it out of near enough anything (I wish i could do that). It is intrinsic. It is also potent. There is an old man who looks like his father, so he tells him, who poisons himself on it badly. It is partly the moonshine which sets up his friendship with the master. The master is a big fan of it, it is something to actually get intoxicated on afterall. The master finds Fredddie in general to be a hoot and a good laugh.
  The master in turn embarks on putting Freddie through his program, or process, or whatever it is he calls it. Freddie likes it, he has to answer a lot of questions about himself, it is likely a long time since anyone has taken an interest. Afterall, he's a lost boy. The programming has something to do with reawakening, so called. Freddie is not susceptible to the delusion, he doesn't really want it. He doesn't want anything from the master. Because of this some minutely wonderful happens through it.
  The master is holding a symposium to coincide with the publication of his latest tome and during it he tell his faithfuls something quite true (quite true to be understood in its full contradictory/ non contraictory nature). He tells  his faithfuls that the secret is laughter. This may not be a certainty but at least it is meant and in that sense it is quite true. It's a revelation. He even takes some steaming absolutisms out of his book. His faith is becoming less bullheadedly false and more like a faith. His faithfuls do not like this but he is not pandering to them in this instance and finally he says something of some worth. And who is it that he finds a hoot and a good laugh? It is Freddie Quell. Freddie helps the master find some worth in himself and the master is the first person to recognise a worth in Freddie. I took that photograph he earnestly tells a woman, pointing to a photograph of the master adorning a pamphlet later on in The Master.
  The most touching scene in The Master is when Freddie returns from spending a few days in the slammer. The master has a mid afternoon half drunk on, sitting on a porch, he is unenthused, whoops, nearly! he says to a little girl after she falls of her scooter just for something to do. Then Freddie returns. He is happy to see him. If he were a little doggy you would be able to see his little tail wagging. Freddie is not expecting this, he has been silly and expects some sort of rebuke. He does not expect anybody ever to be happy to see him in general. The master likewise does not expect anybody ever to be happy to see him but Freddie is happy to see him also. It is a revelation. They have a jovial tussle.

iii.  Cor'

There is a strange quality to The Master though it is not a strange film. It is quite commonplace really. Except this, it is a bit pointless. At first this may be a little disconcerting. However, a sphere does not have a point. Nor does an apple but it does have a core. So does The Master. At it's core is something like love. I would call this something like redemption. Now redemption goes both ways, someone has to slightly mend themself/ be more like themself and someone else has to slightly mend themself/ be more themself to recognise this.
  Through Freddie the master has someone who recognises a worth in him and so can recognise it back, reflected. Through the master Freddie has someone who recognises that he has a worth in him for the first time in his life and so he can see it back, reflected. They both flourish in this sort of mirror. And though their association ends severed there is an ethereal permanence left by the impact it has. And though they may go back to their old way they will go back differently, redeemed in some aspects.
  It is this core of redemption which is what I believe to be The Master's worth. Redemption is, afterall, worth something like believing in. What will survive of us is love. No?

[][][][][]

poems for children

a poem about limes read in the bath

if you'd like a copy send your address to samkastin@gmail.com

poster by Ben Kastin

why you haven't done a thing

falling, falling, falling, f
                                               a
                                                  l
                                                       l
                                                          i
                                                             n
                                     
                                                                g in love

he misses his Mrs

When Matt comes into the pub after signing the divorce papers ending his marriage with Ruthie pat him on the back and say, 'You're bloody Ruthless you are mate.' Then buy him a drink, any beer he wants but steer clear of whisky. That's the right thing to do.

Yeah, that'd be the right thing to do.

-------
Oh dear ...

                oh dear

philosophy

if life hands you a lemon be sour about it

a poem and a short story

Good God!
What's the matter,
for heaven's sake?



~

Child crying,
woman weeping.

they've started calling it bipolar disorder but, trust me, it's manic depression

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Grand_Old_Duke_of_York

and all the tear drops just keep falling out

one fighting another on the snout

and the water runs back up the spout

what the hell is that about

I've got a theory, it's this, I think that when Macbeth can't seem to wash the blood off of his bloodied hands after killing king Duncan it is not a trick of mind due to guilt/anxiety/whatever but actually the beetroot he had for supper. Mind you, that's just, like, a guesstimation.

'But the colour's named after me' says the orange

'Well, I've got the hair named after me' says the carrot

'Not really' says the ginger

'And he doesn't even look like the hair' adds the sour grapes

And the blueberry despairs at the harshness of the world

and the salad makes like a tree and leaves

And the beatroot writes a poem about it

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

so, I've started this new website. it's a sort of gallery. I've decided to keep it wordless. don't tell anyone but I consider it to be art on the sly. to get to it just click on Jesus in the depiction of the crucifixion of Jesus, Titus and Gestas below;

+    +

  +

a poem

flow wind flow

ah, an air conditioned cyclone

the current turns pikes
round here the river stays in beds for days

the living by dictum maxims

to kill in the name of country, this is what I consider to be grand anti patriotism to being human
to kill in the name of God, this is what I consider to be grand heresy to being human
to kill in the name of cause, this is what I consider to be grand treachery against the cause of being human

not unentirely unconnected further reading (as it were);
water

cities

of course, there was a time when going to the other side of the world meant something
nowadays it's as easy as switching on a light
just a plane journey
it doesn't even cost all that much
not really all that much
what does money even mean anyways?
she says to the boy with a bird's name sitting at the other side of the table

you do have to go through customs
says the boy with a bird's name to the bird sitting on the other side of the table
who's feeling blue
wearing blue

and the chef screws a lightbulb into a lamp in the kitchen
and it shines
as easy as Genesis, 1:3

the silent movie star's autobiography

                                                                                                   ,                                                               ,




                                               .












































      .












                                                         !

Kingsland Rd. / Me

young men with moustaches older than they are walk lilliputian terriors up and down the East End of Eden. Donnegal Danny crawls out the Wishing Well, rather wet at 11a.m. single mothers chastise their children for inevitably turning into the monsters that they are turning them into.. the Earth continues to spin its day's work, as the moon spins and I wonder whether the whole universe too is spinning, almost convinced it must be.

and that's the spin I'm in

shining from the gutter

a rainbow shines through the night
through the pub window
through the drizzling rain after a solid pissing it down session
and through the blue moon

it looks like a daytime rainbow that's hit hardtimes
I'd spare it a pot of gold if I could
but I can't
and it's free for the night

(architecture)

       
         starts midsentence, slightly to the side

a poem ends midsentence, it's always 

it never starts 
                                                 




                                   






























































                                                     it never ends

self portrait of someone

sometimes I wonder what to with blue
what to do with daylight
what to do with nightlight
often I wonder what to do with and with not you

what'll I do,
what'll I do?


************************
in blue

Language Suggestions

a. When letting someone know that something is for sure add some colour to your language by making it fuchsia.
b. A rumination on death; The future, like the past not being past, is not future, the future is carte blanche like fuchsia. The future, unlike the past, is for sure. It's probably the only thing that is.

a fan's prayer

A Fan's Prayer

for a very naughty boy,
(Frederic Exley)

Meanwhile
in the cheap seats
the nosebleed section
the Gods'
you'll hear us sing

as the batter reaches the apex of his semi pirouette
a dazzling arc to his swing
as the wood connects with the leather

O Lord!
hear us through a cheer
as the end of the innings draws near us
let thy glory reach us
do not beseech us
way up here in the bleachers

cartoon by David Berman

language suggestions

4. When being kinda mean try being kinder mean.

this lamb is your lamb, this lamb is it's lamb

What's that?
What's what?
That.
That's a little lamb, dear.
A lamb deer?
A little lamb, little dear.
A little lamb little deer. Deary me.
Deary you indeed.
I'm not dear. I'm cheap.
But you're my dear.
I'm my deer.
OK my little lamb.
It it's lamb.
Oh. OK.

A Play For The Garage

Introduction

Look at how dirty her feet are. The foot fetishists are going to have a field day. Zach, of course, has alabaster feet.



Text here:
http://www.scribd.com/doc/95753790.
Let me know if you'd like to perform it- samkastin@gmail.com.

Language Suggestions

As Mark Twain once said, "I don't give a damn for a man who can only spell a word one way"

1. Damn is a pretty damn hard word. If you want to soften it a bit be like a lamb, damb it.
2. Always bare in mind bears in mind.
3. Time flows, the river flows, space flows. We can call them all flowers.

Non Language Suggestions
1. We live in such a digital age that it's easy to forget that other people are actually people. Their own entity to a certain extent. Because of this I suggest, from time to time, you touch someone else's nose with your index finger, from time to time, to remind yourself that they are people like you. Well, a bit like you. Fleshy at least. If they ask you what the hell you are doing, tell them it is an eskimo peck on the cheek. Make sure you do this to someone who will not punch you on the nose in return, though, at least, they shall be reminded that you are an actually a person too. If they ask you why eskimo's don't touch the other eskimo's cheek instead of their nose, tell them that eskimos like noses.
Me too, I like noses, I like my nose, I like breathing through it. I like scratching it too.

76. Saying you are proud to be black is very different thing to say than that you are proud to be white. It's exactly the same thing to say. It is a dumb thing to say, you are not black, you are not white.
77. You are not disabled, you are not abled.
78. You are not American, you are not Taiwanese.
79. You are you.
80. Bear in mind people will always treat you as if you are black or white, disabled or abled, American or Taiwanese, whatever they think the case may be. They will not treat you as you. Forgive them as much as you can.

74. Passing a moral judgement on a person does not make you a better person.
75. Being a better person makes you a better person.

Appendix

My Friend's Story

I was on the bus. It was raining outside and before being on the bus I was not on the bus, I was outside in the rain. My feet were wet, my shoes were soaked and my socks were damp. I was trying to read a short story but I had bigger things my mind than the death of Ivan Ilyich, I was thinking I'm going to have to go to work with wet feet. Then I hear a friendly voice,
"Oh, ello."
The friendly voice was my friend's voice. I put aside my book and we talked. I asked him what he thought of the new 38 routemaster buses. He told me that he's always felt kind of nauseous on the bus and on these new 38's, he feels even more so. The ceilings are lower than they are on the older 38's, you see. Anyhow, Boris has got back in. Good for him you could say. A different friend of mine was once complaining about how Boris promised to lower wages somewhere or other, his office or something, but failed on this promise and instead raised these wages. It strikes me that raising wages is not the problem, it strikes me that it's wages not being raised that is the problem. What would I know about politics though? I'm not paid to think about these things. My friend and I were both heading to our jobs to be paid minimum wage.
By the time we reached Essex Road we were talking about the night bus. The 38 at night has been nicknamed, by my brother, the dirty-eight. My friend went into a story about waiting for the dirty-eight in the centre of London. It went like this,

"Man, waitin' for the 38, man. I was waiting for the 38 last week... There were these two lesbians arguing; 'you don't love me', 'I don't love you'. Just goin' at it. Lesbians can argue man. Could you imagine having two girlfriends? Could you imagine those girlfriends bein each others girlfriend? That's how bad lesbians can argue man. Then there's this girl sat there, pretty much passed out but just about awake. She gives me a wink. Well not a wink, but she was trying to. She was alright you know. I'd have gone along with it if she hadn't thrown up all over herself. Then this guy comes up to me and he's all like, 'They fucked me bruv, fucked me' and I'm just 'OK' and he goes 'you don't understand, they fucked me, they stuck their dicks up my arse mate' and now I'm thinkin' I've had enough of this. He keeps goin' on, 'they fucked me, what should I do' so I tell him 'well you could find some cops and tell them but if it was me I'd find out where they live and I'd burn their house up and make sure they're in it at the time'. He keeps going on. I just ended up walking to the next bus stop."

"Cool story", I said, thinking if only I could write something like that.

one more (see maxim 45)

71. If you don't believe in love you shouldn't believe in hate either.

The last 35 maxims

35. My friend repeats himself a lot. Of course he does, he's a musician. The art of music is repetition. The art of music is avoiding repetitiveness. Believe it or not, he used to play bass with Sly.
36. Siddartha's penultimate step toward enlightenment was to stop learning from others. A lesson for teachers.
37. Siddartha's ultimate step toward enlightenment was to learn from himself. A lesson to us all.
38. I too repeat myself a lot, I'm an artist.
39. I repeat other people a lot too.
40. BE WARY OF ANYONE WHO CALLS THEMSELF AN ARTIST.
41. If you are open enough to it, there is poetry everywhere. For instance, '"Zac Effron just got hotter" HEAT magazine'.
42. All poetry is quite useless. However, I have gotten more out of certain Bob Dylan songs than I have out of certain bridges.
43. Only a poet could give a reasonable estimation of how useless poetry is.
44. Underestimation, overestimation, this is the nature of estimation.
45. The three R's are; Repetition, Repetition, Recidivism. I'm never gonna write another one of these again.

Pause.

46. I've lent out both Gravity's Rainbow and The Crying of Lot 49, and I know I shall never get them back. The person who borrowed them got as much, if not more, from them as me. Always share your literature.
47. There's plenty of people who never lend anything out. I can understand why. None of these rules are absolute.. not really.
48. "Freedom is nothing else but a chance to be better". Be humble... Causes>People. Really? REALLY??
49. What's with all these straight queers? Whatever happened to sticking your queer shoulder to the wheel?
50. For lots of groups this may be acceptable, but, as a person I cannot accept it, be wary of false tokenry politically correct acceptance.
51. If you snooze you win. You win a snooze. You may even win a dream or two.
52. Distractions are not distractions, they are ruminations.
53. The wonderful thing about procrastination is that it's so damn dangerous. "Beauty walks on razor's edge".
54. From working with lots of guys fresh off the boat I have learned how much more you can communicate with a gesture than a spoken sentence. From reading Peanuts I have learned how much more you can say with a picture than a sentence. All words are quite useless.Words are all I have to give.
55. The value of the Taj Mahal is not monetary, nor is it, necessarily, aesthetic. Its value is that it has a value beyond monetary value. If only we could realise this about everything.
56. I was on a bus reading possibly the greatest work of the greatest writer when a friend came on and I put the book aside to talk to him. He told me a story that I'm still chuckling over.
57. The price of greatness is idiocy; firstly other people's, secondly your own.
58. Part of Tolstoy's greatness is that he has a very low opinion of people but he doesn't think any less of them for it.
59. Death is one of the biggest five letter words. So is Funny. So is Grace.
60. All you need is love. All you need is a buck. All you need is a fuck. All you need is some time to yourself. All you need is a break. All you need is a gun. All you need is a job. All you need is a holiday. All you need is a drink. All you need is a detox. Need I go on?
61. All you need is whatever. Whatever helps you make it through the night.
62. If the future is infinite then so is the past. All infinities are spurious. There's a syllogism in there if you wish to finish it.
63. Most syllogisms should go unfinished.
64. BE WARY OF APHORISMS.
65. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I repeat myself a lot.
66. When repeating yourself try not to become repetitive.
67. As Alan Moore did in Superman: Whatever Happened To The Man Of Tommorrow, try to finish with a wink.
68. More to the point, as Alan Moore did in Watchmen, try to finish with a wink.
69. Always cast your pearl amongst swine.
70. ;)
  

31. What is true to me does not necessarily have to be true to you. Maybe you think that's a load of crap.
32. The seasons may not wait but you can wait for the seasons. Patience.
33. More to the point, don't worry about being happy.
34. Every wise owl is also a silly goose.

This one's from the heart

30. If you are going to allow yourself to plummet into deepest darkest nihilism, for the love of God, do it with a kind heart.

25.The cool kids are not cool, just as daft as brushes. Some of them have hairstyles in the style of brushes. Brushes are alright. The cool kids are alright. Leave them cool kids alone. 
26.The kool kids are cool. 
27. Being anti Olympics is the same as being pro Olympics. 
28. Being anti tornadoes is the same as being pro tornadoes. There ain't nothing you can do about it. 
29. There are probably fewer things that you can do something about than you think. Find the right ones, the ones you can do something about.

prologue:

"20. is going to be the one to change my life, I just know it"
Roger Rowley

--------------------

‎20. ----
21. Feel free to skip a point or 2, or 20.
22. It's damn near impossible to live up to people's expectations, don't bother trying to. Don't expect them to bother trying to live up to yours.
23. The basest people have always had the highest aspirations. The highest aspiration is a low one.
24. Instead of asking 'what more could I ask for', try 'what less...'.

‎-----------------------

epilogue:

"You let me down on 20, Joe. you LET. ME. DOWN."
Roger Rowley

yet again more maxims

16. When it thunders, don't fret, say 'God bless you'.
17. When you break a glass, don't fret, say 'Mazeltov'.
18. When you drop and smash a bottle of Champagne, don't fret, say 'Bon Voyage'.
19. Underwhelmed, overwhelmed, you are still whelmed. Whelming is what happens between the shoreline and the sea.

more maxims

12. We all remember our favourite teacher. They were our favourite teacher for being a human being above being a teacher. At some point our favourite teacher will inevitably have disappointed us by being a teacher above being a human being. It is one of the biggest lessons you will learn in school.
13. You want acceptance but you cannot accept unacceptance. Accepting unacceptance is an acceptance. GOD HATES FAGS. Get over it.
14. Using God to prove a point is like using the nazis to prove a point. It renders what you are saying absurd. Even more so with God than with the nazis, there's no denying the holocaust.

more maxims

9. We make such a cunt of time; deadlines, 9 hour work days or whatever,bedtimes and risetimes etc. If you don't make such a cunt of time it shan't treat you likesuch a cunt. Other people will inevitably try to make a cunt out of your time.‎
10. It is inexcusable to be sorry all the time. We have started using sorry to justify our bad behaviour. It is a convenient get out clause. Most of the time you use it you may as well be saying 'kiss my ass'. How about turning up on time for once instead of being sorry about being late?
11. Always turn up late any event held in your honour. This applies especially to your funeral.

Lucy from Peanuts, see maxim number 5

SK's maxims (ongoing)

take from these what you will because you inevitably will

1. Never compromise. Most of the time.
2. We cannot be certain of anything, I'm fairly certain of that.
3. Is tolerance good enough? It is and it is not.
4. Never attempt to hold a humourous conversation with a Frenchman, his humour is a mockery to humour.
5. The toughest cookie I know is also one of the sweetest I know. Let that be a lesson to you all, even the toughest cookies have some sugar in them.
6. When a racing driver gets killed in a grand prix crash we cannot feel too sorry for them, he died doing what he loved to do. When Spalding Grey jumped into a river and drowned, he died where he wanted to die. When a journalist gets killed in a conflict zone she died doing what made her feel important and valid, what she loved to do. Good for them.
7.

such a night

from ' Playboy's Party Jokes' in 'The Bedside Playboy', originally published in 1953

"Are you sure this is your house?" the cop asked the thoruoughly sozzled gentleman.
  "Shertainly," said the drunk, "and if you'll jush open the door f'me, I'll prove it you"
  "You shee that piano?" the drunk began. "Thash mine.You shee that television set. Thash mine, too. Follow me, follow me."
  The police office followed as he shakily negotiated the stairs to the second floor. The drunk pushed the first door they came to.
  "Thish ish my bedroom," he announced. "Shee that bed? Thash my bed. Shee that woman lying in the bed? Thash my wife. An' shee that guy lying next to her?"
  "Yeah," said the cop suspiciously.
  "Thash me!"

Millennium Bridge

Everybody has that thought when they are walking across Millennium bridge, I could carry on walking all the way to the other side or

*Splash*

art market

when someone asks you how a Banksy or Hirst can be worth 12000000 quid, the only valid response is, wake up you fool, the question is how can 12000000 quid be worth 12000000 quid? how is it possible that someone can earn that during a day by just writing a price tag and someone else could never earn it in a lifetime? how is it possible to earn 12000000 quid anyway? nobody ever earns that much money legitimately, it is always earned by some sorta fix up. after a certain amount, extra money becomes absurd and meaningless to the recipient yet they want more. they are absurd. are you absurd? why do we even give a damn about 12000000 quid, it's just quids? if we didn't put a value you to them they'd have no value. surely a shark has an inherent value.

first dates

on Glyn Road a crow and a pigeon share a fried chicken and chips dinner over the lines of the road

elsewhere, a black bird and a white lamb clap hands as they go frere Jacques, frere Jacque

BUTTONS

ol' Jimmy Stardust sure knows how to push my buttons

recently a lot of folks have been pushing my buttons

maybe it's time to get some new buttons

the cure to being a man

Sometimes the only cure is to read a poem by Bukowski twice a day

one in the morning

and again at night

Sometimes there ain't no cure

there ain't no cure anymore

not today

get over it

Why are we so hellbent on curing everything anyway?

seems to be a fool's errand

ask Dr Proctor

ask Karl Marx

a story about my friend Ruth

Let me tell you a story about my friend Ruth. Ruthie Lebowitz. She's a jewish woman from Yorkshire, a jewish lass.

When Ruthie was 32 years old, a man committed a crime against her. I personally don't know this man from Adam but apparently his name was Adam. I don't know what this crime was from Adam. 1 year after Adam had committed this crime against her, when Ruthie was 33 years old, she saw him on Moortown Corner outside Pollards, the newsagents, and invited him back to her house for a cup of tea. He accepted her invitation and went to her house for a cup of tea but had a glass of milk instead of a cup of tea. The milk of human kindness she said to me she said to him when she gave the glass of milk to him. The milk of human kindness came from a cow. It was a right old knees up she told me. After they finished their cup of tea and glass of milk Ruthie led Adam into a room with a bed in it. When they were both in the room with a bed in it Ruthie swiftly exited and locked the door behind her. Adam asked her to unlock the door but she refused to unlock the door. You're going to spend 5 years there she told him. Over the next 3 years she gave him 3 meals a day and 1 hour outside in the garden and granted him use of the bathroom facilities and all that geneva convention whatnot. 2 years before the 5 years she had told him he would spend in the room with a bed were up she let him go because he had been good boy whilst he was in there. 2 years after the 3 years she had made Adam spend in the room with a bed in it, 2 policemen, both women, turned up on Ruthie's doorstep. They arrested her. 2 months after the 2 policemen, both women, arrested Ruthie, she was sentenced to 10 years in prison for imprisoning Adam. The judge told her she had no right to do what she did.

Question and Answer

Is tolerance good enough?

it is

and it isn't

A Poem for Beatrice

Bea,

Whatever will be shall be

Like a tree shall be a tree

And a bumble bee shall be a bumble bee

Not that there's just one way to be what you shall be exclusively

Just think o' that big ol' blue-green in the day and black at night sea

It is made up of the seven seas

These are a few of the ways to be the sea

There are many ways to be

And they all shall be

In our many ways of being able to see

Coastal Shelf #2 the Poseidon issue

from a paper show to the digital flow. from back page to front page, but retaining from left to right, in that order;

With Zak Von Roretz and Ben Kastin.

Recent Works

The profound profanity of the letter t around East London/ the meaning in the meaningless

Firstly, they are not the best of photographs, they are not the worst of photographs. Once again they were taken around East London, that's part of the schema. To accompany the images is a story. It's a snuff story. It kinda had to be, it's about man being crucified. There is a photo of a crucifix, the light was good on the day and most images came out OK. That photograph was taken in Stamford Hill. Stamford Hill is a large Jewish area. The man on the cross is an East End Jew. He is on top of a church. A church is a place where they peddle Jewish wisdom to shmucks. All wisdom is peddled to shmucks, it has to be. He is a Jew for Jesus. He'd be a real mishugunah not to be. He's Jesus afterall. He's not really Jesus afterall, he's an it, it is metal.

*Disclaimer, by describing sacred icons as meaningless I mean no offence. I do not mean anything. Nor did Jesus. We're in the same boat, we're like the owl and the pussycat. It's good fun to alternate between these roles. Meaning is something forced on to something and it does not come from it. As Alan Watts pointed out, you are not born into this world, you are born from it like a tree. (like a dream, I add).

Furthermore, I do not believe in the notion of 'good light'. Let us go beyond good and bad light into light.*

Accompanying Story

Perspective from a hill

Trees are made of tree. Angels are not made of iron. The wind has a saying, it's like blowing in the whistle. Dogs are always going to the dogs, they do not mind, why should they?