Thursday 27 August 2009

NONSENSE -anon

Upon a dark ,light,gloomy,sunshine day, As I in August walked to gather May, It was at noon neer ten a clock at night, The Sun being set,did shine exceeding bright, I with mine eyes began to hear anose, And turned my eyes about to see the voice, When from a cellar seven stories high, With loud low vice Melpomene did crie, What sober madness hath possest your brains, And men of no place ,shall your easie pains Be thus rewarded? pasing Smithfield bars, Cast up the blear-eyed eyes down to the stars, And see the Dragons head in Quartile move, Now Venus is with Mercury in love, Mars patient fages in fustian fume, And Jove will be revenged, or quit the room, Mild Juno ,beautuous Saturn,Martia free At ten leagues distance now assembled be; Then shut your eyes and see bright Iris mount, Five hundred fathoms deep by just account And with anoble ignominious train Passes flying to the place were Mars was slain Thus silently she spake ,whilst I mine eyes First on the ground advanced to the skies, And then not speaking any word replied Our noble family is neer allied To that renowned peasant George a Green, Stout Wakefield Pinner, he that stood between Achilles and the fierce Eacides, And then withstood with most laborious ease, Yet whilst that Boreas and Kinde Auster lie Together ,and at once the same way flie, And that unmoved wandring fixed star, That bloody peace fortells, and patient war, And scares the earth with fiery apparition, And plants in men both good and bad conditions: I ever will with my weak able pen Subscribe myself your servant French Ben

Sunday 23 August 2009

THOMAS DE QUINCEY and his phantasmagoric dreams.


I have often been attracted to dreamers and outsiders,with a romantic bent.Thomas de Quincey (1785-1859) is one I admire. A prose writer of astonishing virtuosity, in a kind of rambling disjointed way. Born in Manchester, the son of a successful local business man, he went to Manchester Grammar School, which he ran away from, sleeping out and causing havoc in my beloved Welsh hills, he was caught and sent to Eton and later found himself in Oxford where he started taking opium at the age of 28 for stomach ulcer pains.(which incidentally did cure him of his ailment). He got himself a bit of a habit until he reched a peak of 8000 drops of laudanam (opium tincture)a day, normal recomended daily dose was recomended at 80 to 120 daily drops, so dont try this at home folks!
Basically today he would be called an addict, which he was, like many literary figures of the time who had become accustomed to taking what was then legal drugs for medical reasons.
He settled at Grasmere to be near his prophet Wordsworth, and his admired Coleridge.He is best known today for "the Confessions of an English Opium Eater" but I feel lesser works have same indefinite power and romantic impulses -The afflictions of Childhood, The flight of the Kalmuck Tartars, The English Mail Coach, and of my favourites Dream -Fuque.
Phantasmagoric is the word for his more typical prose.One minute his emotions are all solemn the next his narrative takes flight, gettin higher and higher, beyond yonder, a vision of something, forever flying ,forever escaping ,space swelling,time expanding!
Sometimes his rythym feels like music - various and indeterminate, closer to the infinite of pure feeling, taking us far out ,then even further.This is the problem, in his case what seemed favourable to single hours of miraculous exaltation of mood, was fatal to the completion of great artistic wholes.It leaves us with unfinished symphonies which tantalize us with their sense of loss.However not everyone likes magicians and their spells.
Amazingly he lived on in contentment until his death from natural cases at 74.Like a modern junky, William Burroughs he often voiced complaint against his addiction, but there be perhaps theatrics at play, with him almost boasting about it.
Anyway he left us a body of work that has to be admired.Sometimes it seems if one reads his works he seemed ,to have lived for 70 to 100 years in one night,he experienced "the reawakening of a state of eye often times incident to childhood...a power of painting ,as it were ,upon the darkness all sorts of phantoms...at night,when I lay awake in bed,vast processions moved along...a theatre seemed suddenly opened and lighted up within my brain, which presented nightly spectacles of more than earthly splendour" "I was stared at, looked at , grinned at, chattered at, by monkeys, by paroquats, by cocatoos.I ran into pagodas , and was fixed for centuries at the summit, or in secret rooms, I was the priest, I was worshipped, I was sacrificed. I fled from the wrath of Brama through all the forests of Asia, Vishnu hated me, Shiva lay in wait for me,I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris.I had done a deed,they said, which the ibis and the crocodiles trembled at.I lived and was buried in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternal pyramids "
Imagine that every night, Opium for the people,anybody! Floating Anarchy ! Not sure myself ,pass me a can of tennents extra, or even a cup of tea and I think I will sleep allright,and not walk amongst nightmare corridors.Happy dreaming now, sleep tight.

Thursday 20 August 2009

Avoiding depression(just some suggestions not absolutes)




Learn a language, especially Welsh,
its one of our oldest living languages.
Learn an instrument,learn to belly dance
Carry on regardless, listen to your friends
Don't  ignore your neighbours
Unless their fascists.

Tell the truth, Follow every sunset
Learn to jive, cull books you never look at,
Plant a tree, climb a mountain,
Listen to music avoid Chris de Burgh ,Michael Bolton
Try some Half Man Half Biscuit,or maybe the Fall,
Bonjo Dog Do Dah Band ,Captain Sensible.

Sit by a local river,try not to fall in
Try to be honest,try to be real
But remember its ok to be cruel to be kind,.
Learn that its ok not to open the door
Especially to certain fundamentalists
Militant paper sellers,most salespeople.,

Learn to be glad,eat fruit
Abstinence can be fine,
But remember not to stand in line
Learn that were all free,
If you have the energy take a walk in the park
Kayak, make sandcastles on the beach.
.
Read some Chomsky,Spike Milligan
Avoid Jeremy Kyle, Alan Titchmarch,
Murder she wrote,most daytime tv
Dont fear the reaper, eat some peach,
Relax, don't do it, reach out and embrace
Pass it on,sing a song, light up a bong
Remember there's always gonna be some darkness,
But their will always be light.

Sunday 16 August 2009

Heard in a violent ward- Theodore Roethke


In heaven,too,
you would be institutinalized; -.
But that's all right
If they let you eat and swear.
With the likes of Blake
And Christopher Smart.
And that sweet man,John Clare.

Thursday 13 August 2009

Ramblin man

against unilateral art,situationist culture will be an art of dialogue,an art of interaction .Today artists-with all culture visible-have been completely seperated from society,just as they are seperated from each other by competition.But faced with this impasse of captalism,art has remained essentially unilateral in response.The enclosed era of primitivism will be superseded by complete communication.At a higher stage ,eveyone will become an artist i.e inseparably a producer consumer of total culture creation,which will help the rapid dissolution of the linear critereria of novelty.Everyone will be a situationist so to speak,with a multidimensional inflation of tendencies,experiences,or radically different "schools" not successsively, but simultaneously.To those who dont understand us properly,we say with an irreducible scorn:"the situationists of which yourselfs perhaps to be the judges,will one day judge you.We await the turning point which is the inevitable liquidation of the world of privation,in all its forms,

Sunday 9 August 2009

Wales in Bloom


Wales in Bloom
Originally uploaded by Dickie-Dai-Do

COMPOSTING

Nothing better to do ,go on facebook,no I mean into the garden.My compost heap is my gardens lifeblood.It should be eveybodies really.Its free as well and very green,all good in my book.Compost is a living substance that in sufficient quantities will give plants all the nutrients they need. teabags are fantastic ,as are roach ends decompose very quickly,weed contains good organic matter.Dampness and nitrogen combined excellant for rotting stuff.Oh whats that Dead Kennedys album title,oh you know the one,fresh fruit and rottin vegetables,ideal.Keep thing simple,dont put large items in,a bit of piss perfect,freshly mowed lawn as well,straws good material as well.Try some wood chippings,bits of damp newspaper,best to avoid meat and oranges or lemon,though citrus-fruit peel often contains large amounts of pesticides and preservatives,which break down well.Find some manure then your laughing.Give it all a stir twice a week , the more you give the more comes back,waste not want not,doin our bit for the environment,landfill is lets face it just not cool,wasteful and costly.Lets give garden plants the nutrients the need,oh compost loves beer and potatoe peelings as well,go on get your green fingers on ,give it a go,free therapy for the soul.Happy composting.

Thursday 6 August 2009

Peace Riot Police


Peace Riot Police
Originally uploaded by jo92photos
went to Bristol yesterday for Bansky exhibition. took 2 and a half hours each way to get there from sunny west wales and a 2 and ahalf queue to get in, quite inspirin. The crowd outside very ordinary , very orderly,mostly white, my suspicion is that the man outside sellin ice cream from his van was Bansky,havin a laugh me thinks. .........................................................................................................................................................................................M5 M4 £ signs $signs,which way is west,welcome to England, MI5,MI6,pret a manger,warning long queues ahead.Severn estuary,Clifton,Bboys and breakbeats.Pylons and summer geese, on our way home.DiY,Croeso i Cymru,GM ,toll gates,wet paint,new M O t.! Half asleep ,half awake,toll gates,sulphur smells.The ghosts of anthracite and coal,homeward bound,lip gloss and heavens gate.Bont graffiti,strong cappacino,grass smoke inhale,aerosouls and paper planes.Glam Rockers ,Beach Boys,George Harrison,Henry Vaughan ,Hank Marvin,we are all dust,Blue meanies different strokes,look a painting in the sky!

Thursday 30 July 2009

Harold Norse 1916-2009 RIP


Harold Norse 1916-2009 RIP
Originally uploaded by pitoucat
I AM NOT A MAN I am not a man.I cant earn a living,buy new things for my family.I have acne and a small peter. I am not a man. I dont like football,boxing and cars.I like to express my feelings.I even like to put my arm around friends shoulder. I am not a man. I wont play the role assigned to me- the role created by Madison Avenue,Playboy,Hollywood and Oliver Cromwell. Television does not dictate my behaviour. I am not a man. Once when i shot a squirrel I swore that I would never kill again.I gave up meat. The sight of blood makes me sick .I like flowers. I am not a man. I went to prison for resisting the draft. I do not fight when real men beat me up and call me queer. I dislike violence. I am not a man. I have never raped a woman . I dont hate blacks. I dont get emotional when the flag is waved. I dont think I should love America or leave it. I think I should laugh at it. I am not a man. I have never had the clap. I am not a man Playboy is not my favourite magazine. I am not a man. I cry when i am unhappy. I am not a man. I do not fell superior to women. I am not a man. I dont wear a jockstrap. I am not a man. I write poetry. I am not a man. I meditate on Peace and Love. I am not a man. I dont want to destroy you. http:/www.poemhunter.com/ More information about the poet Harold Norse and this poem